


Harmful Patterns

by Gallifreya2401



Category: The Bletchley Circle, The Bletchley Circle: San Francisco (TV)
Genre: Averted homophobic attack, Era relevant homophobia, F/F, Femslash, Murder Mystery, Nightmares, Post canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23035144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gallifreya2401/pseuds/Gallifreya2401
Summary: Jean and Hailey struggle to connect amidst the quagmire of life and death in San Francisco.
Relationships: Jean McBrien/Hailey Yarner
Comments: 38
Kudos: 55





	1. Code 14

The tram coursed through the mild night air, the gentle rocking lulling Jean deeper into her thoughts as the familiar route blurred by. The usual lights just blots in the distance. Bends and stops in time with some rhythm in her body. How the hum of this city had awoken something that turned over in herself.

She had left Millie and Edward with her usual perfunctory lack of fuss; she may as well have been going to the shops. Edward, still shaken, had taken to stopping by several times a week, and, as charming and socially adept as he was, not leaving. Even when Jean would pick up a book. 

This uncharacteristic frailty was evidently playing on Millie's mind, and so Jean almost felt a sense of peace when she returned home to find them both already in the living room. Millie, usually so comfortable she would merely grunt a hello to Jean, had stood up, the wavering caution over her next words accentuated by her long frame and wringing hands. Edward, usually a strong stare down his nose, now shifted his gaze from the air around Jean to his cousin.

If Jean were Millie, she would have languished in their hesitation; sat down plumply on the sofa, all stocking feet and smirks, and awaited their spiel to fall from awkward mouths. Instead, half knowing what was coming, she had said a courteous hello, and made herself a cup of tea under the guise of the late night. In the hushed light of the kitchen nook, Millie joined her coyly. Jean recalled this particularly clinging quietness from the Bletchley days: I need the afternoon off; an extra ration; an advance on some pay. And now:

"Edward and I were talking..."

"And you think it's time the two of you got closer?" Jean smiled as she instinctively dipped her tea bag and deposited it on the usual plate.

"...Yes" Millie sighed in relief, "He's been besides himself in that lonely apartment these past few months and we just figured..." she trailed off. There was no use skirting around it; Edward couldn't be coaxed into sharing a room, and three in the small flat would probably be too much. Besides, something about this opportunity had lit a glow inside of Jean.

"It's fine; I can go to Hailey's." She responded, a warmth in her tone through her smile.

"What, tonight?" Millie recoiled, a disbelief in how easily this was all going down for the usually spiky Scot.

"Well why not? She's been looking for a roommate, and you and I both know she won't mind an unannounced guest." And with that, she was gone to her room with her tea, and packing the same modest case she had brought to the flat from London.

Now, an hour or so later, she glowed in yellow light of the city tram, a basket of wine, cheese, and bread atop her knee - a peace offering. In those opening moments, as the tram would gingerly weave through the residential streets, Jean felt the reassuring warmth of the Big Bop some weeks ago. Friends, whiskey, and safety - an intake of breath before she could break apart. At the bar with Hailey, something overcoming her - to tell her she was brave and kind, with the biggest heart - only to catch herself in the crash behind the tensing of her jaw. But in that moment she had been certain she did, whiskey heat on her chest and living on borrowed time.

As the tram raced through the outskirts, towards the docks enclosed with wide industrial streets, the wind began to race around her, flicking the few stray hairs by her ears. The rhythm of the wheels beneath her made her mind race. This was the time, she would knock on the door and find Hailey's smiling face. She would say it back, say it back, say it back in an instant.

She alighted at the usual stop, nodded to the usual ticket clerk, and delighted in the usual salty tang on the air - it buzzed with transformation. Tonight would turn her life inside out.

The warehouse walls, perpetually covered in a seaside grime, had grown homely in the months since she'd been in San Francisco. To the clack of her hard heels she followed the narrow hallway to the broad metal door in baby blue, harsh edges rounded by lacquered paint. Despite the ease Hailey so graciously invited in her friends, a fumble of Jean's mind gave the moment the formality of a knock.

"Hang on!" came the drawl from inside, and Jean could practically hear the concentration across a face perched over her craft table. The ensuing clatter of metal let her know she was right. A gentle scuffle of feet followed, before the door swung to the side betraying the occupants' zeal.

Jean felt something clasp shut inside her. Heat and light billowed around Hailey in the open doorway and danced on Jean's skin, the remnants of a quiet night in visible: a cluttered desk, a mug no longer steaming, lamps left on and blankets over chairs. And Hailey, stood strong in the moment. Her quizzical look disappearing into a fog at the sight of Jean, replaced by a smile and an 'oh hey you'. A genuine smile, somehow unmarred by anything that had passed between them, or failed to do so.

Jean stood dumbstruck; Hailey was beautiful and a wholly Hailey way. Jean had allowed herself to notice the pink flush of her cheeks and shine on her nose against the way her hair cascaded at the end of a long day for some time now. Since the night at the bar, she had even permitted herself to daydream of Hailey's strong hands on a carburettor, or the stains down her lips after red wine. How she would smile across any room at Jean. Now she stood on two strong legs, taut with muscles under cut-off jeans, and grease up her forearms. A familiar checked shirt opened up to the third button showed off her collarbones and sternum, pink and hot, a gentle heave, from the nights' work under hot lamps.

"Um I...I brought wine." Jean said, with a subtle nod to her basket. She could hear her own voice, thin and high, cutting through the still hallway air. Not at all like her usual strong, round lilt. Hailey liked to imagine that voice atop a misty Scottish farm, calling over the valley below, but now it barely made it to her ears.

"Oh, nice one" Hailey grinned, as she set herself to the side and ushered Jean in with her outstretched arm. "Sorry; the tables are covered in grease - but maybe we can do like those new movies that have been coming out, you know, on the carpet." she continued, hurrying to arrange pillows and clear space in the atrial room. Her body moved surely and strongly through the space, as Jean gingerly stepped inside.

They were settled on cushions on the floor, next to two stacked pallets doubling as a coffee table - while Hailey had redecorated since her roommates had left, she was still Hailey - when Jean finally explained why she was there.

"Of course, happy to have you! It'll be like back at the Presidio, or your um..." Hailey fumbled.

"Bletchley"

"-Bletchley of course!" as she sipped more wine, "Just like a sleepover." 

A desecration of bread and cheese grew to the side of them. The wine had Jean blushing and ignoring the ache in her awkwardly outstretched legs, but their conversation lilted all the same. Hailey would turn to Jean with a question, and Jean would feel the answer yanked from deep within her and took her breath along with it, and anything witty to add would be lost in a moment of shock. Jean would laugh at a joke and turn away from the intensity of Hailey's gaze, and Hailey would fall into the gap in the sound. Too forward, too obnoxious. Perhaps Jean thought this was some predatory ploy; she comes to her house in need, out of necessity, and here she was making eyes at her. The pair took to skirting their eyes if they met, the comfort drained from silences they had shared around reams of notes and on joyous nights. On several occasions, one would look at the other like they were waiting for them to have something to say, with a false ease that told of great expectations.

So this is how Jean choked: on imported cheese and artisanal bread.

“So how’s the bookshop going?” Hailey had taken to asking polite questions.

“It’s perfectly fine.” Jean smiled back meekly, “Actually more than fine - I think I’ve talked my way into running a book club out of the shop...” She paused. “It’s rather funny actually, I would never have even dreamed of wanting to do this out of the library in London, and I was actually very attached to the idea once it came to me.”

“Well that’s great!” Hailey chimed with a slight lean forward, snapping Jean out of her mild reverie. The unconscious intimacy of closing space caused her momentary fluster, and in noticing this, Hailey recoiled back. A flash of moments and twitches of muscles, and they were lost again. “What’re you gonna read?” she asked, her tone forced calmer.

Jean mused into her drink, the glass at her lips. “I was actually thinking Virginia Woolf might be apt.” and she risked looking at Hailey over the rim, but Hailey was already glassy eyed into the middle distance, nodding in a polite but unaware manner. Jean let out a small sigh. “And you? How’s the garage?”

“Oh same old, same old. People bring in cars, I fix the cars, circle of automotive life.” she casually responded as she fiddled amongst the crumbs for a substantial bit of bread.

“No interesting...types of car coming through?” Jean quizzed.

“No, no interesting ‘types of cars’.” Hailey laughed back. On anyone else these laughs would have been cruel, but on Hailey they barely teased. “No; work is nice and routine right now. Before you guys showed up that would have been driving me batty, but these past few weeks I’ve...” she searched for the words, “come to appreciate it.” she announced with a flair of outstretched wine and precarious tower of cheese and bread, a bravado to her tone indicating she was emulating something in her British friends. And Jean firmly in the radius of her outstretched arms.

“You and me both dear.” Jean said with a smile, the softness in her voice a gravelly depth. A momentary knowing glance flashed between them before they could drop their gaze.

“Yeah, how long do you reckon Edward will need to stay with Millie?” Hailey asked quietly to the open room.

"Oh, I don't know. As long as he needs, I suppose. You can't rush these things, or predict them, mind." Jean spoke to the air.

"And it doesn't bother you?" Hailey quizzed, with a characteristic knot of her brow.

"No dear, in fact I rather think I...understand." If there was a fumble for the explanation, Jean did not see Hailey register it, but while secondary to her motivation, it was not untrue. Jean did not take the moment to explain her coming here had been entirely her idea. "Shell shock, they called it, after the war. Nasty blight." Jean said, and placed her glass down with a thunk.

"Yeah but I thought only vets got that?" Hailey pressed again, mindlessly faltering in her earlier resolve and practically drilling holes into Jean with her eyes.

"Officially, perhaps...or maybe just in common understanding, but I never thought so." Jean sighed. "My oldest brother, true, he fought and he saw...terrible things as a result. He screamed through the night for months, and just when we thought he was better there was a thunderstorm and he was in pieces again. But my mother, never even got in a scrap at school...when we heard about Duncan - my younger brother, middle above me - it was a telegram. And she refused to ever take a telegram again. And then she wouldn't even leave the house."

"Why?" Hailey asked in a gentle hush.

"I don't know. I don't think we really can. She probably thought if she couldn't get bad news, bad things couldn't happen." Jean replied with a wry smile.

"But that doesn't make any sense..." Hailey protested in a near whisper. The weight of the words between the two almost seemed to compress the room and light around them, and scared to pierce into the unknown, they had both grown quiet, their heads marginally closer.

"It doesn't have to." Jean whispered back, with a soft look into Hailey's eyes. Nothing but the other occupied their sight. Jean saw something swim across Hailey's face she couldn't quite place, some searching, disappearing behind her eyes and a wave of a grimace as sadness overcame her. Hailey saw Jean's warmth falter to question, and turned away with a sniff.

"What's the matter dear?" Jean asked, and placed a hand on the top of her arm.

"Aw now I should be the one checking up on you." Hailey said with an attempted laugh as she dodged Jean's eyes, her face displaying the incriminating dampness she always tried to hide.

Jean simply rubbed her arm, and waited. Hailey eventually sighed, and softened.

"I know everyone thinks I'm a cow-poke, and hell I even play into it most of the time, but the truth is, by the time I ran away, I hated every little thing about the farm. My parents, the house, and even though they taught me everything I know, the machines..." as she flustered, she trailed off, and her eyes searched. 

"And I thought I'd be okay in the city, but a few years back, Jerry comes in to me at the garage and says some schmuck somehow snook a whole tractor up from Mexico on one of the barges. Snook is the wrong word - bribed more likely - but it had got all rusted up from the salt water. And anyway, soon as he tells me this I feel sick to my stomach. But I don't get it, I don't get why there's something in the back of my head telling me not to do this job, no matter what. Cause course I gotta be the one to fix this tractor, right? Of course. So the next day I turn up, and I _actually_ clock this thing, and I think I'm _actually_ going to throw up, and I stop breathing, so instead of keeling over I just ran. Told Jerry I was on the rag and he left me enough alone. I went camping and by the time I got back it was gone. Never spoke about it again." she said with a sniff, her eyes threatening to overflow.

"Hey, it's okay. From what I know you had one of the roughest times a kid could have. Things follow you. It's okay." Jean said, and shifted herself to fully put her arm around Hailey.

"I just, never though about it that way." Hailey said, somewhat more composed and stock stiff upright so as not to lean into Jean. "Thanks."

"Well I suppose you're welcome." Jean said with a sigh. A silence stretched before them, softer now, more air in the room or more room in the air. Both women searching in their minds.

"And are you okay?" Hailey asked, after a long while. 

Jean felt her blood run cold. She could sense Hailey beside her, quiet and small for once. Jean had held her girls through blitzes and close calls, and as scared as she would get herself, she would have to be stoic. Fine enough to convince everyone else that things were, indeed, fine. 

Her mind flashed with her life since being rescued from the hotel.

"Oh me dearie? I'm fine. Takes a lot to knock me down." She reassured.

"Okay." Hailey breathed, and they smiled wanly to each other, their faces now close, Jean's arm over her shoulder. 

Jean stretched her smile a little wider, and knocked their heads together gently. Quickly, Hailey unceremoniously wiped her nose and wet eyes on her arms, expertly dodging the grease spotted up them.

"As long as I can count on ya. It's getting late, I'll go set up your bed." Hailey said as she leapt up, and patted Jean on the shoulder as she headed to the bedroom.

\---

A dim blue of moonlight floated through the sheer curtains, shunting against tables and lamps, books and bodies.

Jean lay awake, the dull buzz of the wine making way for a headache and panic in the strange bed. It was soft, and the sheets somewhat musty. She was accustomed to the yellow glow of street lamps and the quiet shuffle of Millie across the apartment. Here there were drips, the far off shouts of dock men, and a gentle rumble of Hailey's breath as she slept. Hailey had fallen asleep in an instant - a product of her train travels, she had joked before turning out the light - and now she slept with a soft blue aura over the rise of a blankets and the familiar curves of a face cast in new light.

The sudden reality had set in. It had threatened to do so in the cold of the running water from the hot tap, the collection of abandoned tea cups, and the strangeness of the strangeness she felt in looking up at a different ceiling. Here she was, across the world with a woman nearly half her age she should never have even met, explicitly in love with her - which was in all likelihood reciprocated, though she questioned her mind after the evening - and she had turned up to share a room with her in the middle of the night. And soon she would fall asleep, as the ache around her eyes beginning to groan, and she couldn't hide from Hailey any more. In sleep, her resolve slipped. In sleep, she fell apart.

The first time it had happened, it was like being woken up by her brothers cries as a teenager again, until she realised it was her own voice bouncing around in her small room. 

Millie had taken a breakfast shift, and shaking in the suddenly huge flat, Jean had steeled herself. A draft excluder under the door, sleeping on her stomach to muffle the cries. With the stress of Edward, Millie had failed to notice any shift in Jean, if there had been any noticeable shift at all. Jean, rather than feel any resentment to her friend's lack of observance, had almost relished in the safety of this wallowing. But now Hailey slept some ten feet away, and Jean could always tell by a gentle prickle at her neck when Hailey would watch her.

Who was she to her friends if she was not strong for them?

But as she chased dust fairies in the blue light, she drifted away.

\---

Jean opened the stout door to her flat to a scene of disarray: a flipped armchair, a splay of coats from the tipped stand, a tear of books, papers, and curtains, and a scattering of plate fragments. Dust swirled in the upheaval. A heartbeat shouted in her ears, and her breath rattled around her. 

On legs that creaked and turned to jelly she moved through the flat to her bedroom door. Here would be safety, here would be order.

Instead, she found a cold, white light around her in a space most unlike her modest single room. Dim light billowed sheer curtains against barred windows, the cold air playing with the hair on her neck. A deep blue carpet lay at her feet, and a mahogany chair stood at an odd angle on its expanse. She felt a wave of sickness rile up inside her. On the bed, against the haze of the room, the tangle of the sheets made her mind snap. Her heart beat faster, a realisation, this was why she had come all along. But as she reached out to pull the covers away, her legs gave out and she was falling.

—

She woke with a start, her eyes out of focus for the wall, now too far away from what she was used to. In the morning light, already harsh, Hailey stirred.

“Hmph...morning.” She near growled across the room, her eyes not even opening, as she pawed at her face.

“Sorry did I wake you?” Jean asked, genuinely quizzical as to her nightmares effects.

“What, nah I don’t think so. Just the sun.” Hailey said with a wide yawn and a stretch of her arm. A few blinks of her eyes, and the animal quality of sleep was largely shaken. Still in her clothes from the night before, she padded out of the room saying “First morning, roomie! This call for coffee!”

Jean responded with perfunctory thanks but mostly sat up in her new bed, dumbstruck. True, she had near trained herself not to scream in the night but she was still undeniably restless. Hailey truly could sleep through anything.

It was always the hotel room, she always had to go there. And always on the bed, something she needed to see, even though the top sheets were merely tangled as if left in a rush. That was when she always fell, and thats when she would wake up, sweaty and uneasy, heart pounding, waiting to feel safe in her bed again.

After much clattering and fuss, a tired voice cried “Dang it - out of coffee. Looks like we’re going out!” as Hailey appeared in the door with a smile. Smiling back too wide, Jean declared:

“Sounds lovely.”

—

They emerged into the already hot morning with their respective brisknesses; Jean, a streamlined lack of nonsense, and Hailey, a flash of action and energy. This juxtaposition had suited them since they first met. 

Even against the breeze off the harbour, Jean had only seen reason for a cardigan, and Hailey, one of the boys’ leftover bomber jackets. Hailey had been oddly happy about the coffee situation, saying what the cart down the street had was a darn sight better than anything she could offer. In this string of oddly warm days, she saw joyous times of showing Jean the neighbourhood stretch before her, and fizzed inside. At least the weather was playing ball.

“You’re going to love it. Just a guy and his coffee cart down by the tram stop, but he’s a genius. A caffeine virtuoso. And the spot, oh! Chairs out in the open, just about see the harbour, very Parisian like Millie always goes on about.” She was fussing as the pair made their way along the concrete dock.

“And if it’s so amazing how come you’ve never taken me before?” Jean near mocked. It was true, Hailey had taken Jean a many number of places.

“Ah, that’s the thing, he’s only here in the mornings. This is one of the perks of being my roommate. Come ten am he folds up his chairs and moves on.” Hailey explained with a performative shrug. “And tell the truth, I’ve never tracked down his next stop. Tried to follow him once but no luck, you know even with the cart he’s pretty speedy.” She waffled.

“Well I just hope his stuff is strong enough to drown out that awful smell.” Jean winced, her face sour like when Archie would try to switch out her scotch for cheaper bourbon, or she would fold from hunger and try a fry.

“Yeah sorry about that...” Hailey trailed with a mild blush. “We’ve been getting stoats and raccoons wash up against the docks this past week and going bad. Me and some of the other tenants let the dock manager know but there’s not much to be done besides pick em out every now and then. And that’s a rotten job. No idea where they’re coming from.” And she walked towards the edge of the concrete lip that held them above the gravel that gave way to the harbour in a gentle lapping tide, as if to show that she was telling the truth. Instinctively, and out of no squeamishness, Jean followed. 

But as they learnt over to see, they nearly instantly recoiled back, for floating out of the black waters against the pillars, amongst odd debris of dried flax, was a body.


	2. Unraveling String

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hailey can't understand why Jean wouldn't want to help in the murder case, and as cracks start to form and she sees inside, she can't stop herself from pushing.

Face down, blue, and bloated, it was the naked body of a woman, long hair stringy and skin mottled.

In an instant, Hailey made for the nearby steps to the waterfront, but as her muscles tensed, Jean was grabbing her shoulders.

“Hailey, no, you can’t...” she said as firmly as her grip.

“What do you mean _can’t_? We have to help her!” Hailey cried, her cheeks ruddy.

“Oh sweetheart, we can’t. We can’t help her.” Jean soothed. The poor optimistic lamb, she thought, as she watched the disbelief cross Hailey’s face. “We can’t help her.” 

“Then what do we do?” Hailey asked as her body relaxed.

“Go back inside, call the police. Tell them what you saw. Then come back to me.” Jean explained calmly. The morning was picking up, and other people were starting to mill, and someone needed to keep them away. 

When Hailey returned, she refused to step back from the edge of the dock, and Jean refused to head down the gravel out of a respect for the crime scene, if it could be counted as such. In this ideological tug of war, the concrete lip is where they found themselves. Jean fixed her eyes on the hazy horizon, while Hailey chased the air on fidgety feet.

"What are we gonna do? What's the first step?" Hailey quizzed in a hushed tone, her arms folded and brow knit.

"We're not going to do anything!" Jean hissed back, incredulous.

"But we have to-" Hailey began. In an instant Jean was riled; the sheer presumptuousness of her counterpart was ludicrous, that there was anything to be done, let alone by them.

"We do not 'have to'. We do not have to do anything. Why would we have to do anything?" Jean snapped out of her reverie with near poison.

"Because it's what we do!" Hailey pressed back, and caught a momentary flicker across Jean's face. She had watched the butchers' daughter and the weekend girl at the grocer's baulk under less vitriol from Jean; she wasn't used to being pressed.

"No, it's what we get ourselves quagmired in because you go running ahead without thinking!" Jean said, pressing the space between the two of them. Hailey, winded, took a half step back as sirens wailed over the silence. 

Within moments, the quiet huddle of the morning was split apart by a flurry of police officers and coroners. As the filament flashed over the body, Jean and Hailey were separately quizzed by the officers, though they had nothing much to add that wasn't already evident. With little ceremony, the body was in a black bag and on a gurney in the coroners' van in under twenty minutes.

As they sat with steaming coffees, not much in Jean had thawed. Hailey sat across from her, quietly on edge, as they avoided looking at each other. Jean was in, as Millie had occasionally put it, a veritable huff.

"There just has to be something we can do." She sighed.

"Are you asking my opinion or my permission?" Jean gave in way of an answer. Hailey dropped her head in dejection.

"I don't get it! I don't get why you don't want to do this! We usually wait 'til we see a pattern in the papers, we don't usually get in on the ground floor like this. We can stop it sooner, we could save more girls. I...don't get it." Hailey practically cried, a pleading look across the table.

Jean sighed, allowing herself to be softened by the look in Hailey's round eyes. She did not want to do this, get embroiled in something bigger than herself and her life. She knew now it was more fragile than the whims of this city. The quiet that now followed her gang had her naively dreaming of a lazy flow of days, in parks and in bookshops, of tea across the morning table as Hailey tinkered as soft yellow light dancing off the pacific.

"Beyond everything, beyond every reason not to, and please don't take this as me getting involved -" Jean cautioned with a tip of her cup, "I just don't think there is anything we can do. A naked body, washing up from who knows where, days old, no identifiable marks..."

"Well that's why I wanted to get down there-" Hailey interrupted.

"Be realistic, Hailey, there was nothing to see." Jean said, and tried to soften her tone as she saw skirt her eyes in Hailey hurt. "A girl washes up like that, the police think one thing and they don't even try."

"Well that's exactly why we need to!" Hailey pressed again.

"You need to drop it." Jean snapped, with a finality she had rarely employed since her Bletchley days. As Hailey recoiled from her at last, Jean floundered in the rush of her heartbeat and flush in her pallid cheeks. Feeling restless and hot, she downed the dregs of her coffee and fidgeted for something to do in the charged air.

"I need to get to work." She said in flurry, and collected her handbag.

“But you said you didn’t have to work until later...” Hailey countered, a petulant youth showing in her scorned tone.

“It’s stock take time. They’ll appreciate the help.” Jean lied with hurried, pointless fussing around her person, and marched to the approaching tram.

Within a moment, the silence of the gap by her side engulfed Hailey. Unmoored, she slunk off to the garage, sure Jerry would also be thankful for an earlier hand. As she wove through the lingering crowd, she replayed the closeness of the night before against the harshness of this morning, and wondered where she had gone wrong.

—

Jean had quickly excused herself from the register when she realised the fog of the morning was not going to dissipate. To the chagrin of her fellow assistants on the busy weekend morning, she had steeled away in the store cupboard, a musty haven of dust and filament lighting much more familiar than the sunny stacks of the store. Intermittently, she would find her hands stationary with a paperback somewhere between shelf and box, or vice versa; it always took a moment to discern. Titles and covers blurred before her. Life was ridiculous. _Hailey_ was ridiculous.

How could everything feel so different than last night? Where had her nerve gone? On the tram, she had been sure of not just her mind, but of her life. Content not for a quiet one of course, but a lived one; a network built around the bookshop, weekends on the beach with her friends before slinking into booths at the Big Bop, skin hot against the cool leather. Cicada chorus in the park as Hailey pretended to listen to her explain a 'three pipe problem' yet again. London had become a mess of strings that told of death; yarn on her boards tangled on her bus route and tube line, even the Thames. She saw men shaking hands and saw the lines of information and danger flow around her. Stifled under books, a pressed flower, she had finally escaped to the salt spray of San Fran, of Hailey, cool like a tincture, and possibility.

In the briefest of moments, she mindlessly imagined a slower morning, with yellow light over entangled limbs and mismatched freckles, exposed hearts and heads happy to stay on the pillow without coffee. The hubbub passing around them, a calm amongst storms.

But now she was in a tailspin, everything torn away in little instants. A flash of Edward's nervous, wringing hands against Hailey's innocent stares clamped her throat shut and made her mind panic. And now, this body, and Hailey's urge to save the world. Jean felt lost somewhere between the tug of anger and adoration. Of course Hailey wanted to help, why would Jean expect anything else? Why should Jean ask anything else? But she felt betrayed; she felt like she was raging against some constraint of her mind to be seen, truly seen, and protected. To be chosen, above and beyond this new threat. It felt like she was screaming, and Hailey could not hear.

Spinning around herself, she slammed a large hardback down as the door burst open. One of the younger shop assistants stood frazzled, showing her snub at Jean's sharp turn and huff. "Phone for you." she said in her nasal tone, before spinning on her heels and returning to the floor before Jean could ask for any more details.

Utterly displaced from her thoughts, under the hum of the lights and muffled conversations behind the door, Jean felt exposed and unreal. Or unrealistic. Unsure, she sighed, and slowly got to her feet before heading out to the phone.

"Ms. McBrien speaking." She said into the receiver flatly.

"A body? You've been gone how long and you've found a body?" the unmistakable home-county drawl of Millie teased down the line. Jean felt a shiver run up her spine and her face scowl, as she turned away from the watching eyes of the queue.

"How on earth do you know about that?" she hissed as quietly as possible, with a sideways glance.

"The police called here trying to get you in for a formal statement. Is Hailey's phone out?" Millie said nearly absentmindedly.

"No..." Jean sighed with something like relief. "I must have given them my old information without thinking this morning. Which I’m sure goes without saying wasn't the calmest of starts." as she pressed her brow with her hand. What an idiot, though she doubted she could have kept it from her friends for long.

"I'll say; a _body_." Millie repeated, "So, tell me, what happened?" She asked with the casual lilt that would be attributed to a teenage conversation about a date by any outsider.

"You cannot be serious. You want to get involved in this too?" Jean snapped a little louder than she was comfortable with.

"Now I didn't say that!" Millie spat back with a defensive calm she had perfected in her relationship with Jean. "I simply want to know what you saw. And we can decide whether or not to get involved from there." a pause in the stalemate down the line. "I suppose Hailey is already on board."

"That she is." Jean said tersely.

"So you might as well tell me, because I'll hear it all sooner rather than later anyway." Millie smirked. She heard Jean sigh on the other side, before relenting the little information of the morning in blandest detail. "You're right, it's not much to go on." Millie mused into the phone, "Well listen darling, I've got to run to work but trust I am giving spare every thought as to what we can do. Bye now." and before Jean could protest the line was dead.

The remainder of the day passed in a blur of jilted conversations, book recommendations, and small talk with her employees. Jean fretted the subject of the body would come up each time she was approached, but it never did. Realistically, she knew it wouldn’t. A girl like that wouldn’t cause a stir until they found out she was somebody’s someone. As the oppressive sun lowered in the sky the shop remained hot and stuffy, the usual warmth near the wide windows making way for a tightness and volatility that Jean hardly recognised in herself. After the last costumer chimed out of the door, and the younger girls eagerly made their ways home, Jean remained with some of the longer standing staff to tidy up the days debris, despite their insistence that an early start had been enough. At long last, in the cooling twilight, she headed for her tram stop with a head heavy from exhaustion.

—

Jean walked into the loft to an uncharacteristic smell of homely cooking, stodgy solid flavours you felt at the base of your palette. Slowly, Hailey moved from stovetop to oven to counter. Unobserved, or simply unwitting, Hailey in her freeness was beautiful. The roll of her hips and squared feet, bare against the scuffed wood, were an intoxicating strength. With a thud of her handbag on the table, Jean unmoored Hailey. But the usual spin of chatter and high pitched drawl were subdued this time, questioning eyes behind every word, like navigating unsure ground.

“Good thing you worked late, or you’d have been waiting for dinner.” She half joked, placing the plates down in front of the pair, but her dulcet tone told of self berating. Before Jean lay a plate of homely joys; gently stewed cabbage and neatly chopped carrots, a simple slab of pork and wick of gravy, and, perhaps most importantly, roast potatoes prepared as she had repeatedly lectured her American friends to do so. With what energy she had left, and through the mire that had somehow grown between them, Jean mustered her sincere thanks; some communication of the anchor a stomach full of roast provided.

“The girls wanted to come over, make a game plan, tonight.” Hailey explained as casually as she could while collecting knives and forks. “I told them that maybe tonight wasn’t the best night for it. You didn’t seem too keen.” She said softly and lowly, sitting down to finally eye Jeans reaction.

“Thank you.” Jean said, formally, “I appreciate it.”

The distance across the table seemed insurmountable, words losing their meaning through a tangle of feelings and concerns, falling flat in the askew vase of dying flowers. Punctuated with niceties, the main soundtrack to the meal was the scrapes of cutlery on crockery, sips, chews, and sighs. Stopping to look up, Jean asked Hailey if she did not like cabbage. While it was true, she did not, Hailey had in fact been woken from a maelstrom of thoughts about Jean, and quickly got back to the meal with an unintelligible shrug.

Jean was washing up without a question when she felt Hailey rub against her, and work her hands around the drying pots.

“You cooked, you don’t have to clean too.” Jean said, a tired hush in her otherwise empty voice.

“You’re exhausted, I can help.” Hailey responded in clipped words.

“You are too.” Jean said.

“So this way it gets done faster and we both get to bed sooner.” Hailey posited, and, as Jean figured there were better things to argue, allowed it some finality. An easy procession soon emerged between them, of Jean cleaning and Hailey drying. 

In the gentle sway of this domesticity their shoulders rubbed together intermittently, and the closeness felt like some betrayal of the breathless space between them, these bubbles that neither could penetrate. The heat of Hailey’s arms through layers of fabric drew a tingle up Jean’s spine, which erupted in a gentle flush of her ears and tightness in her throat. In the fragile proximity, Hailey tensed and held her breath, feeling so close yet so far. In the silence, their pale hands flashed together over a rag below the faucet. Knuckle against knuckle, interwoven, gentle. A rattle of breath and pounding of hearts in the instant. And back to washing with darted eyes, while the atmosphere collapsed around them.

Hailey broke. “I just can’t get her out of my head. The girl.” She added, somewhat needlessly. Jean, imperceptibly to one not looking as closely as Hailey, froze, before resuming scrubbing the pot she was holding. “I can’t stop wondering if she was scared, right when it happened. If she was hurt-“

“For goodness sake,” Jean snapped with a splash of her brush into the basin, “I thought I made it perfectly clear that I do not want myself or you getting involved in this!” as she paced away into the kitchen and back.

“Jean please I’m not trying to talk you into this, I’m trying to talk to my friend about something she can understand.” Hailey sighed, frustrated against the counter. Jean had seen something like this face from Hailey before, when Iris would tell her to go home, stay safe, not stick her nose in. She could see Hailey’s potential and hurt pushing to get out, to be understood. She had seen _exactly_ this face from Hailey twice before. Once at her. And once again, it melted whatever wall was built around her, and she sighed back to the sink.

Friend. The word rung around the air like a gong sound. A strangle in Hailey’s voice at the peak of the sound, a mutual flick of the eyes.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. What we saw this morning was...unsettling and you need to talk about it.” a pause, as Hailey looked on, unsure, “We need to talk about it.”

“I just...I can’t imagine her terror, in that moment. Did she know it was coming? Did someone hold her for hours or days? Did she get rushed? I don’t know. The uncertainty is driving me batty.” Hailey began, as they settled back into their cleaning rhythm.

“Well we're not accustomed to not knowing.” Jean added gently.

“It’s not just that, it’s...” Hailey searched for the words with her eyes to the ceiling. “Who is she? Who’s looking for her? Who’s looking out for her? Who did she think of right when it happened? Who wasn’t there for her?” she spat, her eyes focussed on something deep inside. As she backed away from the sink, Jean followed her quizzically. “That could have been me, so many times if I’d made one wrong move or a snarky comment to the wrong guy, I’d’ve washed up on some different bank and ended up on a different slab. But no one would’ve ever known or found out. No one would’ve helped. I’d’ve just disappeared into the ether somewhere over the midwest. We can’t...I can’t...” she began panting, tears in her eyes. 

“Hailey you cannot...” Jean warned, clasping Hailey’s hands in hers, “Please you cannot make this personal.” Her eyes fully fixed on Hailey’s, just as wide but wild rather than wet.

“But isn’t it? Wasn’t it _personal_ that dragged you over here? Didn’t it get personal for Iris and Millie, and me. And god, you, didn’t it get super personal for you?” Hailey pleaded, her eyes wide, open to Jean, begging. Jean knew these eyes, fell into them involuntarily. Caught, she relented.

“You’re right.” She said, whisper cutting the silence between them. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” and she truly believed it. She pulled Hailey to her, and wrapped her arms around her lightly shaking frame.

“No I’m sorry.” Hailey sighed into her shoulder. “What are we gonna do?”

An eternity seemed to pass, and Jean felt her heart tearing itself up.

“Nothing, tonight. Please.” She whispered, head still pressed against Hailey’s, strands of ginger obscuring her view. The gentle, honest request shook something in Hailey, who simply held Jean a little tighter.

“Okay. Not tonight.” Moments ticked over, and the turn of the earth could nearly be felt around the pair. “Tea?” Hailey posited when they finally broke apart.

“Tea.” Jean agreed.

—  
The cloudless night sky opened up the hot clog of the city day; the heat seeped out of the pavement and iron roofs, the harsh glare dimmed from windows. Jean and Hailey felt the sickly chill against their skin, the sudden shock from the stifling daylight hours causing a throb in their heads.

Jean felt the days heat dissipate from her crown with the thrum of tension. The threads of vessels against her skull, now discernible in the pressure of her headache, felt like they were floating to the cooled air in strings as she settled her groaning body into the soft mattress. Along with them, her consciousness slipped too. Mentally, she tried to cling to these last bastions as she felt the oblivion of sleep coming over her.

—

The oak door stood before her, it’s mint grey paint chipped away to reveal an eggshell blue. Resentfully, she turned the handle and emerged into the room in its usual state of disarray, and followed the broken path to the bedroom door.

It was like returning to your classroom after several years away; a shift in arrangement, different pictures on the wall, an odd tone mingled into the familiar aroma, perhaps everything also feels smaller than it was, though you may have just grown. Walking into the room, she felt her brain lock together like incorrect jigsaw pieces before her eyes truly took in the changes. 

The desk lay against the left wall, rather than to her side. Instead of a perfunctory clutter of books and stationary, lay glinting metal knick knacks beneath a hot lamp. The mahogany chair stood more functionally and square, and was adorned with scrapes and marks. Light streamed into the room differently, and denser green rags hung haphazard over the small, rectangular window, and before it, the too tight crisscross of the fire escape. The light fell on the packed plush of royal blue and highlighted a haphazard array of sawdust and lint that stood in stark contrast to the usually kept space.

These displacements caused her heart to falter and stopstart amidst the racing canter this room usually instilled in her. The drum of abstract panic gave way a jumble of nonsense whys. Before her in the room stood the bed, once ordinary in the army neatness of the sheet pulled taut over the hard mattress, a featureless expanse of white, now fell in undulations and creases. The tangle of sheets over them clung with a dampness. Breathing in, she felt the cold wetness on her throat, against her cheeks. Reaching out her hand to them, she could swear she saw gentle lapping of the folds at the edge of her vision, but her thoughts gave way to a ringing alarm in her ears, and she was falling again.

—

With a jolt of her body, Jean awoke to her own strangled, animalistic cries. She tired to adjust her eyes to the soft light of the room, but could not still her fretting body, which twisted and wilded around as if searching for something.

Her commotion - a constant rustle of bed clothes and whimpers breaking through jagged breath - had evidently woken Hailey, who sprung from her bed and across the room before any confusion could take hold of her.

Hailey’s face swum towards Jean out of the darkness, who instinctively clung to to her, pulling her in even closer. Hailey’s heart was somehow sinking and breaking and in her throat all at once. She forwent Jeans questioning tugs to lean over the perimeter of the bed frame and truly pull her in: head beneath her chin, cheek flush with her sternum, the smallest prickle of tears in the tight space between skin. 

The pair clasped together awkwardly, Jean still sat up in her bed with Hailey perched forward and bent to hold her firm. Still, they remained like that in an expanse of time. Silence rung in their ears. Hailey felt Jean relax into her body, her breathing slowing, her weight sagging into Hailey's frame. But still Jeans hands at her back were in fists, as though real touch would somehow prove too intimate. Hailey did the same. Aware, and now wide awake, the same tension rippled through her whole body, and her mouth grew dry while her eyes prickled with tears.

The strange edge in Jean's tone earlier had disconcerted her more than the angry outburst, and it had left her restless, falling into a fitful sleep. She could never recall that quiet edge of vulnerability as Jean had asked for the night, not even at the Big Bop, at the bar, not even when Hailey had bared her unruly heart. In a rare shallow sleep, she had been truly perturbed to wake to Jean's panic in the darkness. Since they had settled into an awkward disconnect, she had lived in a body that sputtered and jolted like stalling car: at the pier, by the sink, and now springing across the room to Jean’s side.

It was like some shroud had parted, a fog gone from Jean’s twitching eyes, but now they were pleading, lost, and searching for a beacon. Hailey had seen her face crumpled, lip quivering. Whispers of _are you okay_ and _it’ll be okay_ , gentle shushes. When Hailey awoke from the shock, she realised she was rocking Jean gently. She longed to hold her fully, cheek to cheek, smooth hair cradled in her hand, breath on necks and tickling behind ears. To chase this away, whatever it was, because now it scared her too.

Hailey had tried to hold it inside of herself, but it kept spilling out. Silently, the pair had agreed that they would not discuss their conversation at the bar further; they were simply friends, now roommates. This made Hailey feel sick at the thought of her adoration of Jean all the same, some perverse manipulation. But in feeling bad, the only person she wanted to turn to was Jean. She hated it, but could not bare to let her go even more. Not literally, not figuratively. Before this moment, Hailey had not realised how much she relied on Jean's strength, and felt unmoored in this display of vulnerability. But in this ceded territory, she felt herself grow easily, and clung Jean to her tighter again.

They remained like this for a long while, until Jean was still and calm, and Hailey's back felt tense and tired. It etched on her mind to ask what was happening, but the space around them felt too fragile for words. Eventually, Jean began to slump her weight against Hailey, who gently tried to lower her back down to the bed, but as her body hit the mattress and Hailey began to pull away, she felt Jean grip to her pyjamas with the remains of her consciousness.

Hailey's body tensed to a stop, and Jean's hands remained gripped despite her closed eyes and gentle face. She felt the hard push of air out of her nostrils, and tried to pull away again. Instinctively, Jean's hands gripped again, this time with an extra pull downwards. Hailey's head felt light, and instinctively she wanted to recoil despite her heart sinking to Jean's side. Surely, this was too much? Surely, this went far over the line they had drawn? But with a gentle, nonsense murmur from Jean, Hailey relented, and curled herself around Jean under the blankets.

Jean instantly coiled her arms around Hailey's waist, closing the already small distance between them with a pull, and rested her forehead on her sternum. Hailey felt her warm breath on her chest, and worried about her being able to breathe, but couldn't bring herself to shift her from where she evidently wanted to be, and so just held her back. Mindlessly, their legs intertwined, and they both fell asleep in moments.

—

Hailey woke to weak morning light in her eyes from an odd angle. With a start, she opened her eyes and jerked up to seated. The bed beside her was empty. Frantically, she began to frisk the space, as if she would unearth Jean amongst the blankets. She turned to her own bed, thinking Jean could have moved there in the middle of the night, but it too was empty. Her eyes searched the room, but found it quiet and still.

As Hailey pad footed into the living space, Jean was already dressed and busy at the kitchen. She felt a presence in the door frame, could feel the prickle of eyes on her neck, but ignored it, busying herself with mugs and toast. She felt Hailey sigh, and sit down at the kitchen table, before turning around.

"Here you go." Jean said thinly as she placed the plate and mug before Hailey.

"Coffee? Where'd the coffee come from?" Hailey asked, somewhat dumbfounded by the morning.

"I went out and bought some from the market this morning. I'm sorry I didn't know your brand." Jean said, finally sitting down herself, though not making eye contact with Hailey, who stared at her blankly. Sure enough, on the countertop was an open but plump brown bag of ground coffee.

"Oh, thanks." Hailey said meekly, and started on her toast - wholewheat, as was Jean's preference. With a dry mouth, Hailey ate her breakfast with simple questions about Jean's day, before leaving the table to shower as Jean went to work. 

Under the hot water, she felt deflated; she had not meant to be excitedly taking her for coffee, or climbing into bed with her. She felt Jean recoiling away, and was sure it was with disgust. Harder than ever, she resolved herself to respect these messages from Jean.

—

At work, Jean was awash with thoughts of the night before. In the confines of her private room, she had been unaware of how defenceless her nightmares made her. Though in quiet moments at the register, she betrayed thoughts that perhaps it wasn't that at all; in that moment, she had wanted Hailey. She had woken up sometime close to dawn, with her face pressed into Hailey's chest, hands clutching, and their legs draped in criss cross patterns. What moment she took to admire Hailey's face relaxed against the pillow, delight in the warmth of her body and sickly morning breath dissipated to fear again. Fear that someone would walk in, see through the window, or just sense this closeness between the pair. But this fear was different, it was not panicked but rather pained; she felt the fear for Hailey, for the wide expanse of life granted to her by youth, which could be destroyed so simply.

Gingerly, gently, she had extradited herself from the embrace, and set about a morning. Fretful not to sit still with her thoughts, she had gone to the market. Terrified to meet Hailey's eye for the worry she would melt again, she busied herself though she could feel Hailey, transparent as always, aching with questions.

Jean worried she was ruining something in Hailey, some openness and freeness that she truly admired. Why had she neglected to bring up her admission? Why fail to ask now about Jean's clinginess? But she knew the answer. It was her own actions. In her coldness, she could dispel most folk, bar Millie, perhaps. With a spiky word or well-timed quip, she had kept people at arm's length her whole adult life. Only Jean could not solve Xeno's paradox, a friend had once told her with eyes bleary from absinthe - only Jean could fail to meet someone halfway there.

In a perfect world, she could let Hailey in. Would, in a heartbeat. But this world was not perfect, even if the golden light of the setting sun bouncing around her hushed shelves made her wish it was so desperately. No, there were numerous reasons she could not reciprocate to Hailey, not least the fear she felt in the woman's zeal for this murder case, if it could be called that. But a promise was a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to write superfluously. Chapter 3 coming immediately because I made this over-long. Current projections: 7-12 chapters and maybe 60K+ words.
> 
> -
> 
> Me: complains about Sapphics always getting torturous storylines
> 
> Also me: Pain! Pain and turmoil for the Sapphics!


	3. Crossed Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With little to go on, the gang try to make some headway on the case. Despite herself, Jean gets invested, but this might not be in her best interest.
> 
> -
> 
> TW: Averted homophobic attack.

Walking to her new door, she was met with the familiar din of her friends, their raucous laughter and chats, the casual chaos of a tea of toast and jam. She took a moment to listen to the easy conversation of her friends in the doorway as they joked about their days. Walking in, these jokes lulled somewhat awkwardly, though Millie cut through it with a hug like she hadn't seen her in months, not short of forty-eight hours.

"Oh stop it, you'll get jam in my hair!" Jean tried to joke lightheartedly.

"You're worse than Edward, no wonder I kicked you out." Millie joked back, with more ease, and returned to the table. There sat her homely crew of Iris and Olivia, their postures relaxed and tensions floating off them from the day, and Hailey, who stood up.

"I'll go grab a chair and we can get down to it." she said, and headed towards the bedroom. Jean followed to place her bag in the doorframe.

"Thanks for doing this." Hailey said on her way out, desk chair in hand, her tone hushed against the quieted revel of their friends. Her eyes darted to the side, rather than looking at Jean. "I know this is hard for you, but you should know I appreciate it. I mean, I think we all do but...especially me." The moment hung between them.

"Of course." was all Jean said, forced ease brushing any meaning aside, as she let Hailey lead back to the kitchen.

At the table, Olivia recounted what the coroner had told her, any nervousness about her job dissipated thanks to her antics since meeting the brits - and the undeniable glee she took in them.

"They can't do an autopsy until they make an ID and get the family's permission, and if they can't do that then, in all honesty, they probably won't bother. Waste resources, sorry, is how I should put it." she said, some disdain in her voice.

"But they are looking?" Hailey asked, seemingly reassured by this fact.

"Yes, but the water can obscure a lot of features, so that could take a while. All we have to go on for now is obvious physical markings." Olivia stated. Jean had always appreciated her succinctness in these matters.

"And were there any?" Millie asked.

"Just a needle mark over the carotid artery." Olivia responded.

"Oh well you should have lead with that, that's got to be murder." Iris posited, forceful as ever in her deductions.

"So that's how they did it? Exan- that thing they do the cows in B movies?" Hailey added, perplexed.

"Exsanguination? One would think, but the coroner found it odd, said the mark wasn't consistent with what he knew of blood loss deaths of this ilk. Though it could have been due to how long she was in the water, he doubted it."

"Any idea how long that was?" Hailey pushed.

"Two to three days, closer to two most likely, because she was so small. And not a drowning, either; she was in the water after she stopped breathing." Olivia said with some finality.

"So, what do we know? Young girl, reason enough to look for a family, some post-mortem blood-letting, and dumped in the water to wash up here after a couple of days." Millie said to the room, leaning back. Hailey watched on, always jealous of her ease, the way she made everything glamourous.

She turned to Jean, some old foolishness expecting her to also be watching Millie, but she was stirring her tea and staring into the whirlpool it created, seemingly ignoring the conversation. Jean had felt dizzy as her friends had ping-ponged information around her. While Millie passed this off as a rare petulant refusal to get involved with a sigh, and chalked it up to Jean's stubbornness, Hailey figured otherwise, but could not stop herself careening too far down the conversation to keep an eye on her.

"She could have been killed on the water, or moved there afterwards. Either could mean a boat?" Hailey said.

"That's a point, but what can we do with it?" Iris asked, not out of cruelty, but more from the free form conversation the pair had found helped them many years ago.

"There's a pretty well-kept list of boats in the docks near here." Hailey answered. "We could trawl it for newcomers?" She suggested.

"I mean, that's smart; it would have to be a newcomer...or someone who's escalated to murder over a longer period of time." Millie suggested.

"The first part's easy, I suppose, even if you and I have to suggest it to Bryce a little forcefully to get ahold of the list through proper channels." Olivia responded, dusting crumbs from her fingers. "But how do we deal with an escalated situation? If we're looking at the boats at all?" she looked around the room. It fell silent around the question, fingers tapping at teacups, until Hailey spoke up:

"What was it you said, at the coffee shop?" she said directly across the table, her eyes in a three-inch stare, not meeting Jean but an edge in her tone that carried her words directly to her. Cautiously, every face turned to the subject.

"I'm sorry?" Jean said over her teacup, taken aback by the sudden attention.

"At the coffee shop, you said that the police...the police would look at a girl washed up like that and think one thing." Hailey recalled. Everyone turned to Olivia, who sighed.

"It's true, most of the guys at the station think this is going to be an open and closed Jane Doe. But we can't make any assumptions until we know for sure." She pressed.

"I'm not making any assumptions, but right now we have to spread our guesses around." Hailey responded.

"Sorry, what are we even planning to do?" Jean demanded across the table, her brow knit at Hailey and jaw tense.

"Well...if it's escalated we should be able to see a trend, right?" Hailey mumbled.

"Are you suggesting I pilfer crime reports?" Olivia asked, with a hint of snark.

"No, I don't think these are the kinds of crimes that get reported too much." Jean said, grimly, over the table. The chill in her tone hushed the table, who turned to Hailey, who had finally locked eyes with Jean. "What are you thinking?" Jean said, not accusatory, but with the same air she had had at Bletchley, providing a heavy space to prove oneself. Millie had seen innumerable girls buckle under this pressure, but had no qualms about Hailey, who boldly responded:

"The Fortified Wine. It's a dive bar couple of blocks over on the waterfront, popular with the dock men looking for a good time. Not too much police presence, you know the kind of place. If anyone's noticed anything, it'll be the girls at the bar." she concluded.

"Like the waitresses?" Isis asked, confused at the stalemate across the table.

"Not exactly." Jean said quietly, as she finally stood up to take her cup to the sink. She knew what was coming, and resented it already.

"So you're suggesting we go?" Millie asked, somewhat confused.

"Well, not we." Hailey said, looking her group over, with a short glance over her shoulder. Jean's teacup fumbled and clattered in the basin.

"You cannot be serious, that's far too risky." Millie said, a cautious glance to her friend at the sink. "These things always escalate so quickly at this point. He could be there, Hailey. One wrong conversation and -" Jean slammed her hands on the counter.

"It's downright ludicrous is what it is!" She said, wielding round to glare at Hailey. Iris and Olivia shared a quizzical look, while Millie glared at Jean with her nostrils flared. She remembered all the times similar outbursts had merely inspired her to annoy Jean more. "You are absolutely, under no circumstances, to go there alone." Jean barked as she advanced on Hailey in her chair.

"We should get going, kids will be getting into bed soon." Iris said, curtly, as she and Olivia rose to their feet, and looked to Millie, who glanced between the stalemate, and finally sighed to join them in leaving with a muttered _you’re my ride_. They passed weak goodbyes to the pair, who remained mostly unmoved.

As she left, Millie bounced back on her heel through the doorway, and looked back: “Be careful. Both of you.” She sternly looked at Jean. “We’ll try to get ahold of the harbour rentals tomorrow. Talk soon.” And with that they were alone.

Jean could feel a shake in her body, unsure if it was fear or anger. She felt sick at the notion of Hailey in the bar, in danger, hurt, even. The room grew dim around her as she rescinded into conscious nightmares of the possibilities. She knew Hailey would push, push too far, to get at what she wanted. Her stomach started to flip at the notion of Hailey under the flat, clawing hands of the regulars, faceless and somehow jeering, and Hailey’s faked coyness, a pair disappearing into the dark.

“You have done some brash things in the name of detective work, Ms. Yarner, but this has got to be the single most conceited, dangerous things I’ve ever heard you -“

“This is all we’ve got!” Hailey finally snapped. “We got no ID, no cause, time, or place of death. But if this is what we’re thinking, if anyone knows anything, it’s those girls. I’m not suggesting we go and pick up a John and hogtie him till he squeals, I just want to talk to the girls, at the most case the joint for creeps.” Jean scoffed at this, and looked at Hailey as if to say they would all be creeps, but Hailey merely rolled her eyes and continued, “You don’t have to like it but you don’t gotta treat me like a kid either. I know what I’m doing.”

“You do? And what is that? Working out your own obsession with this case? Are you so blind?” Jean snapped as Hailey folded her arms in her chair, her face ablaze with a pout and a glare. Pure anger was new on her.

“You promised you would help me! Help this girl! This is how we help her.” Hailey stressed with her hands.

“But what about you?” Jean retorted, not angry, not pleading, somewhere lost in the middle.

“What about me?” Hailey asked, the quizzing edge of her voice softening it.

“What if you get hurt? What about me?” Jean finally broke, some true fear flowing from the cracks. The room stood still in the sudden freeze, dust bunnies slowing in the air thick with unsaid things. Jean stood motionless, suddenly small and awkward in the open of the living space, her eyes threatening to water, a telltale tension in her jaw betraying a tongue clamped to the roof of her mouth as she looked to the ceiling. Her gaze fell from Hailey quickly. With a sigh, with the brisk sweep she was so adept at, she began to clear the clutter of mugs from the table as if nothing happened.

Hailey watched, dumbstruck. She wanted to ask _what about you. Tell me why you, please_. But Jeans cracks were already sealing up, and the chance was gone, taken from her. She had thought this was all some horrid gripe at a bad idea for a situation she didn’t even want to be in, not some fear for her safety. The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind.

“I’m sorry. But I’ve gotta do this, you know that. Same way I couldn’t look at the tractor, I know I’ve gotta figure this out. If it worries you, you can come along too. But that’s as best I can do.” She said, softly now, turning to Jean at the sink. She saw her body stilled, then relaxed a touch.

“Fine. But let me finish the teacups first.”

—

The pair wove their way through the gently cool evening in a silence tense not between them, but with apprehension. Jean recalled the first errant arrival of her girls at the library, how she had marvelled in a spiders web of data and delighted in the jarring, sputtering start of long-forgotten cogs in her mind. Even when Millie had presented _The San Francisco Chronicle_ on her desk, her synapses had flared and lit up behind her eyes. 

But somehow, this was different. She dared glances at Hailey, her face intermittently erupting in a smooth cup of burnt orange that caressed over the curves of her face as they passed under the argon street lamps. Fear felt like a dreadful price.

With a sigh and a hug of her arms closer to herself, she placed her step closer to Hailey's.

—

The bar was muted and dank. Similar to the Big Bop in its architecture - a simple concrete block and disturbing barred gate in the doorway - though much smaller, and it lacked any lively warmth the women felt at their usual haunt. 

Like many buildings in the area, the bare walls inside seemed to seep with sea salt and grime, dripping with a clamminess that made you hold yourself tighter together to avoid touching it. The walls had once been painted an indiscernible dark hue, now darker with age and smoke and dirt, and they were sparsely adorned with paling posters of _The Asphalt Jungle_ and _East of Eden_ , tacked on askew or poorly framed. A jukebox droned and crackled a dated melody, the bright peaks of tone in a girl group's harmony juxtaposed against the closed, dreary bar.

Even the patrons seemed sluggish in their movements; a rag against glasses, a woman crossing the floor amid the crowded, haphazard tables to stroke the flat of her hand across the back of a hunched man, all lilted and out of time to the music. The din of a bar somehow fell soft among the tight, harsh space. If anyone took much notice of Hailey and Jean's arrival, no one let on.

Jean felt frozen in the doorway, surveying the scene as natural, against some better judgement or want inside of herself. Small groups of just-passed-young men slumped silently at the bar and tables. There were two loners - one sinewy and tall nursing a small clear dink, the other portly with his legs spread wide astride a dwarfed cane chair laughing with ruddy cheeks as he gripped a young woman's waist too tight. Perhaps in lieu of art, the outskirts of the room were adorned with small groups of women, who were also not talking but stood with languid posture, lips dripping with gloss and cigarettes held limply with wisps of smoke in weak wrists. It was all taken in in an instant, and not wanting to draw unwanted attention, Hailey steeled herself and strode towards a chair at an empty table. Jean, feeling an invisible force tug her from her fear, followed.

Hailey adeptly signalled the barkeep - a greasy looking man with a greasier looking rag - for two beers, her face the same grim demeanour as the locals. Jean thought hard to keep this same composure, not to pull her handbag tight into her, not to suck her cheeks in. Two pale, watery beers were deposited in front of them, and a quick look from Hailey - a gentle wince of her eyes and wrinkle of her nose as Jean watched her take a swig - told her it was not worth trying.

No sooner than Hailey was on her second sip, a woman deposited herself in the third, unoccupied chair at the table. Jean felt her heart flare, threatening to flash across her face, but she saw Hailey sharply nod her head upwards at the woman and settled. She was almost certainly the oldest woman in the bar, though surely only a few years separated her and Hailey. Jean wondered if her age permitted her clothing: where the other women had tight trousers, and slouched off coats over exposed shoulders, this woman had a billowing paisley blouse and dusty pink housecoat, with a long, A-line skirt in deep mauve. Her make up was muted, though heavy, and her hair pulled back and relatively flat. Jean leant back in her chair, and took her in with a slow sweep of her eyes.

"You're new here." She said, matter of factly, producing a deck of cards from her pocket, and beginning to shuffle them with her eyes still fixed on Jean.

"Just getting a feel for the place." Hailey said flatly but calmly, taking another sip of her beer. Both Jean and the woman's eyes flicked to her.

"Her hair natural?" she asked again, passing a brief, disapproving look to Hailey. Taken aback, Hailey's resolve faltered.

"I mean I put a roller in the bangs-"

"You speak for yourself." She said, some inflexion in her words betraying minor surprise, or annoyance. She spoke only as loud as she needed to above the jukebox, and began to arrange the cards in front of her: one stack, and the top three face up in a leafed formation. Jean recognised the game immediately: solitaire.

"She certainly can." Jean said, leaning forward to join the game, her tone more hushed as they both leant closer over the table. She shuffled the presented cards - a smattering of fours and twos, to the bottom of the deck and produced the next three: an ace, and a matching king and queen. At this sudden, seemingly nonsense shuffle of cards, Hailey leaned in too.

"And I prefer snap." she said, some cheek peeking through.

The woman grimaced a little. "Snap's a violent game." she said cooly, her hands passing over Jean's as they quickly took turns.

"And you don't like violence?" Hailey pressed suddenly. Jean dared a glance in her direction, but the woman drilled her eyes into Hailey's. She narrowed them, and surveyed between the newcomers slowly, her hands withdrawing from the cards slowly as she made to lean back.

"What she means to say is," Jean added quickly, "is that no one likes violence. Not us and not you. But it's...an undeniable fact of life." she concluded, in a softened tone, as she slowly completed the first suit at the top of the table. The woman watched cautiously, and leant back in, but did not play.

"It's a fact of your life?" She asked, a gentle arch in her eyebrow as she looked intently at Jean. Jean's blood ran cold, and with a sharp sigh, she dropped her gaze.

"Yes. Yes, I'm afraid it is." she finally said, barely audible above the music, even in their tight formation. "But we try to make that not the case for as many women as we can."

The woman looked between the pair again; their resolves gone: Hailey nervous and tight, a guilty look even when she wasn't, and Jean, stripped back and honest. She slowly turned her head over her shoulder, not breaking eye contact until the last moment when she gave a subtle nod to the group on the far wall. The women, limp and posed before, now stood tense watching them, hyperaware of the conversation at the table, shoulders covered, cigarettes stubbed out. At the nod, they relaxed halfway back to their old posture.

"We have that in common." the woman said, giving the two a meaningful glance. "It's rare I can't place people. Who are you? You're not police, not really bible bashers -" Hailey snorted a _no_ at this, but fell back to the table on her elbows, gentle thumb against her glass at the deep stare she received from the woman. "Who are you?"

"We just want to help." Jean said, before Hailey could spill anything too meaningful. "We just have a few questions." at a flash in the woman, Jean reassured, "Nothing that will put you in danger. We promise."

The woman sighed, and stacked the second and third suits to the top of the table with a flourish.

"Fine. What do you need to know."

"Your girls said anything? Anything worrying?" Hailey asked immediately.

"No more than usual." the woman said casually.

"So you haven't picked up on any changes? Or heard anything nearby? Repeat, problem clientele? Weird asks?" Jean probed, a little gentler.

"Just the day-to-day. Night-to-night." she was rapidly switching her eyes between the pair, but they trusted this was out of trepidation, not deceit.

"No girls not turning up for a couple of days?" Hailey asked, the question itching its way off of her tongue. At the tangibility of this question, the woman near reared backwards.

"No, no missing girls. I'm not a monster, I'm a mother. I'd go to the police over something like that. Fat lot of good it'd do, mind." and with that, she completed the final suit, and instantly swept the cards back into the deck. "I trust you ladies aren't going to cause trouble, but if you're messing in something big I don't want it near my girls. Finish your drinks, no one will bother you. But don't come back." and with that, she was gone from the table and through the beaded curtain - now mostly string - behind the bar with a nod to the bartender.

Hailey huffed, a long exhale into the room, as she slumped back into her chair.

"Well I don't know what good that did us." she said, taking a swig of her beer and ignoring the taste.

"I trust her." Jean said quietly, stealing a glance at the group of women, who busied themselves and looked away. Hailey nodded, pensive, accepting it.

"Well at least we can assume it's a newcomer. Maybe tomorrow will be better." Hailey said with a sigh. Her beer was fast disappearing, while Jean's small sips had barely drained a third of her pint. She looked to the older woman, still not relaxing into her chair, her surveillance of the minutia of the room. She wanted to say I feel like a dunce, I made such a fuss for no good, and she felt her face crumple slightly with the guilt. She still had that look when Jean turned back to her, and in being caught she relented. Her eyebrows arched in a silent sorry, and her frown clamped shut to stop from berating herself. Silently, Jean understood. Hailey had expected her to be angry, frustrated, again at this failure, but instead, she gently held her shoulder and smiled back softly, and Hailey felt better. They hung like that, suspended between each other with profound tenderness.

Abashed, eventually Hailey turned away and made a show of sloughing off the annoyance and swigging her beer. Jean finally took the moment to survey behind her, the world forgotten in her card game, the intense eyes of the marm...and Hailey. 

She stopped cold under the cruel glare of a loutish regular. Between his friends - or at least his drinking buddies - playing poker across him on the bar, he watched the pair and probably had been for some time. Jean locked eyes with him, and his face soured some more. She swallowed. The moment had been too long.

"You gonna drink that?" Hailey asked, nonchalantly, pointing to Jean's watery, mostly full, beer.

"No. And neither should you." Jean said with a glare. Hailey's eyed blinked in shock, leant in close to her face. Jean shot her eyes to the bar, and Hailey followed suit. In the instant it took her to turn back, her face had fallen, grown the same ashy, grim shade it had been when they walked in. But this time it was true.

As naturally as she could, Jean pushed her beer away, and clasped her handbag with her fist. Hailey gripped her jacket tighter to her, and quickly, they rose out of their chairs, and made for the door past the men, keeping the eyes down and several tables between them.

In getting through the door, Hailey noticed the small commotion of them settling up, dropped playing cards, and grabbed coats.

As the cool night air hit them, they broke into the fastest sprint Jean could manage, aided by Hailey's strong hands on her right elbow. In the middle distance behind them, a dim light broke out and revealed three burly shapes into the night.

"Smart spotting." Hailey whispered through puffing lungs to a preoccupied Jean. While her leg was evidently causing her grief, her face betrayed the animalistic panic Hailey had seen in her the previous night. She pushed a little harder, rushing towards a dense spot of streetlights and mild hub of outer suburbs late on a weeknight. "Tram. We gotta catch a tram." and she weaved suddenly to the stop adjacent to their local.

"What?" Jean wheezed, wheeling around with her head, but letting Hailey pull her along still. It was true; from this distance it was perhaps quicker to run. The figures were advancing, quick strides bringing them in and out of the cones of light from the lampposts behind them.

A flash of lightbulb eyes bobbed over a hill and towards them as the lit square of the tram stop drew near. Jean and Hailey were strung between the speeding train and the thugs behind them. Jean's legs began to falter under the strain, and Hailey struggled to take her weight but did so nonetheless, determined with each of Jean's unintentional whimpers and cries as she faltered.

"Come on. So close." Hailey encouraged to the air, near dragging Jean at this point. The group rounded the corner, near breaking into a sprint, all scowling and silent. The pair dove through the arrangement of benches as the tram began to slow at the stop. Yanking them forwards, Hailey grappled with a spare hand on a lamp post as the tram pulled in, two figures waiting to get off.

Behind them, their pursuers came into the square, slowing only slightly at the sight of the tram. The brakes squealed, a scream in their ears over thudding hearts and frantic breath, and the trolley came to a halt. Meters closed between the thugs, now striding rather than running, and the women, equidistant to the tram. 

With a final heave, Hailey flung Jean on to the open back of the tram, and as she clenched her hand around the pole and shouted "Go! Go!" desperately to the driver. As the tram sped off, they watched the jeering, cold eyes of the men fade away, too exposed to make any grabs.

Hailey handed her pass to the perplexed ticket clerk, butting out her chin as she defiantly asked for two clips, daring him to ask, and he yielded.

As she slumped down next to Jean, exhausted, they stared at the city flying past, until Jeans breathing stilled in an instant as she exclaimed:

"We're going the wrong way. Home is the other direction..." with panic.

"Pretty smart, huh?" Hailey said, a tired smirk across her face, fringe clinging to her pale forehead with sweat. 

_Of course_ , thought Jean, sinking back to her seat with a deep breath. Rush off in the wrong direction, and not only will they struggle to follow, but you won't lead them back home. "Pretty smart." she agreed.

—

They sloughed into their dark loft, Hailey practically collapsing into her bed, complaining that a night without her roller would leave her looking a mess, but that she was just too goddamn tired to try.

Jean left the bathroom in her pyjamas into the darkened room, neglecting to turn on any lights. Her body groaned into the mattress, her right leg aching, almost pulsing, around her wound. The walk home had been tedious; her pace slowed by a hobble. But Hailey had held back with her, her strong strides slowed with a pendulum swing of her legs, even if she kept a moderate distance in comparison to their chase. Jean had been sure she would find her roommate asleep, but as her eyes fixed to the darkness and the distant ceiling, she could feel the conscious breath and mindless, minor fidgeting and knew this wasn’t the case. Jean turned her head, the rustle of bedclothes loud in the silent room.

“Are you okay?” she asked gently, in the direction of Hailey. Not much had been spoken between them since the chase, less about the chase itself, as the shock still reverberated in pacing minds and fretful heart rates.

“Yeah ya’know I’m...weirdly fine, I just...I don’t get it.” Hailey said, gesticulations muted in the dark.

“Don’t get what?” Jean responded.

“Well that lady, she was telling the truth right? You thought so?” she asked aloud, almost for the benefit of her own logic. “So why chase us down? Who were those guys? Are they goons or are they really involved?”

“I don’t think they have anything to do with this.” Jean said, a dark edge in her tone.

“What do you mean? What else would they be doing?” Hailey asked, quizzically. Jean paused. “Jean?”

“I think they got the wrong idea.” She finally said, still dulcet.

“Don’t be silly, even the brothel mother didn’t take us for prostitutes-" Hailey began.

“That’s not what I mean.” Jean said, flatly. Silence tingled around the room as Hailey thought. The silent communication, the brush of a thumb on her shoulder. 

“Oh.” She finally sounded, small, final. A sickness played at the back of her mind, but it was too cramped for the feeling. She lay still on her back, the two women silent and stiff in their beds.

The moment in the Big Bop loomed close in their minds, mere weeks and a lifetime ago. It hung in the air above them, a single unified thought in held breaths. Inches away from hands not grasping. Hailey couldn't even help herself, she realised; she would steal these connections against her better judgement, against her own awareness. In Jean's silence, and her previous resolve, the tumultuous, complicated sea behind them seemed easier, and safer, to navigate.

"I'm sorry." Hailey half-whispered to the ceiling. And she was, truly, sorry about a lot of things. She heard a shift of cloth from Jean's bed, a head turning to look at her, and a beat, beat of silence.

"Sorry about what, dear?" she asked, softly.

"For being so headstrong about this for no good reason. For getting you tied up in all this." Hailey responded glumly.

"Well, I rather feel I'm in it now, and better for it." Jean paused. "And I'm sorry too. You had more than good reason to get involved."

Hailey swelled in her chest in spite of herself, her body relaxing marginally. "Still, I'm sorry I scared you."

"I'll...survive." Jean said, with a pained pause. Live did not quite feel the right word. "You're just so young." she added as way of an explanation, with a sigh, half willing it not to reach through the thick air to Hailey.

"I'm not that young!" Hailey protested with a laugh, resigned to the protective edge of her groups respect.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean it like that." Jean began. "It's just that I look at you and I see so much...opportunity. You've not just got your life ahead of you; you've got the whole world. You're younger than any girl I managed at Bletchley and they all have husbands and children now. There's so much more that could happen to you." She paused again. "I want it to...be able to happen to you is all. I'm sorry I've taken that out on you."

"But I'm not one of your Bletchley girls." Hailey said, pointedly. 

"You most certainly aren't" Jean said with a deep chuckle, imagining a scraggly, thin, pale bumpkin arriving at the buttoned-up rows of huts, all red hair and the confidence to ask for a job.

"I can't believe you Ms. Yarner-ed me." Hailey added, jovially. Jean groaned across the room, remembering her ire.

"I've apologised enough!" and the pair laughed, and petered off into silence. "But...thank you. For getting us out of there." Jean said to the silence.

"It's no trouble." Hailey said, too absentmindedly with a yawn, too far gone for any weight between them to press on her mind. The hush of the room grew steady and calm as she drifted off with a small snore.

So this was the quietest of spaces, Jean thought to herself. She felt her body, tense and tight from the night, and mindfully relaxed into the mattress. She filled her ears with the rasp of Hailey's breath, drawing it into her, remembering the weight of Hailey's hands around her - on her shoulder, on her waist, her back - and the press of her body as they ran. The warmth, the jigsaw puzzle slot of limbs and curves. The fear as she turned around, not knowing if Hailey would be behind her on the tram. Chills ran through her again, and she shook herself, clamping her eyes shut and resolving herself to thoughtless sleep.

—

She ran up to the door with a thumping heart, and burst through to the displaced room. The light from the windows, a golden afternoon glow, paling under a harsh glow from above. In place of the sofa, worn and dated, was the cold iron slats of a bench, still strewn with blankets and papers. 

Her neck prickled, an unspoken force advancing behind her, spurring her through the room faster than usual, the air thin and resonating as she moved. Though there were doors around her, always the trail of destruction lead her to her bedroom.

Speeding through the door, she stopped dead in the room, the space quiet and still, the prickle in her neck ebbing away in the tell-tale sign of abated danger. The room was as she had last seen it, not returned to its original condition. The criss-cross of the fire escape splayed a spiders web of shadows across the chair and deep blue carpet, a cup of tea dregs and the crust of toast and jam growing stale on the misplaced desk. The dampness had grown, and turned sour on her tongue. With all her urgency, she reached out for the tangle of bedsheets faster than usual, and instead of falling, she felt herself pulled backwards with a lurch.

—

With her head dehydrated, near pounding, Hailey awoke to the jagged breaths and fitful turns of Jean coming from across the room. Perhaps desensitised, or just dog tired, the shot of panic felt far away, like in some forgotten recess of herself. Clumsily, she stumbled across the room, and pulling back the sheet, wrapped her arm around Jean as she thrashed and lay down beside her.

Jean lurched awake to firm hands on her back and a soft sushing around her, the sweet, day-old smell of Hailey enveloping her. Exhausted, elated, and terrified, she collapsed into her chest as she had the night before. Hailey wrapped around the frightened curl of her body, and they floated into sleep.


	4. Encrypted Messages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hailey and Jean speak different languages and don't hold the cypher.

"Hey Haybail, heads up!" a gruff shout sounded far away, barely breaking her from her reverie before a rolling backboard careened into the back of her heels. Even through her thick work boots, Hailey winced in the sharp pain and shock.

"Son of a -" she began with a shout, wheeling around from the exposed engine she had been bent over. At the dazed look of her colleagues, she softened. "Watch what you're doing there Sammy!" she said jovially, smoothly sending the board back to him with a firm push with her unaffected foot.

"Speak for yourself." Sammy said back with a smirk, as he stopped the board with his own foot before bending down to grab it. "Where's your mind at? I shouted you a couple-a times"

"Not in the gutter with yours, that's for sure." Hailey flicked back, reflexively. Sammy waved her away and they ebbed back to their respective tasks. Well, Hailey tried. She had been staring dead-eyed at a jammed turnover for near an hour, but each time she shook out of her thoughts and resolved to focus, she would drift back away again.

In the glint of metal she would catch the spark of fear in Jean's eyes. With every gentle grate of iron filings, she would hear the catch of Jean's breath. Hailey had awoken to sticky hot skin pressed together, the high-strung pain of pulling apart as she pried herself gently away from the still-sleeping Jean. A tightness clung to her brow even in sleep, it would seem. Some subtle whisper of the expected empty bed the morning prior, a denial of the night, took over the urge to brush her thumb over the knot on Jean's face with a gentle cup of her palm over her cheeks, and Hailey had busied herself out of the loft and to work without waking her.

As the severity of the previous night settled in, Hailey found herself focussing not on the chase, or the thugs, or the abstract threat on her very person. While these thoughts flickered like embers at the edge of her mind, they failed to catch. Burned on her retinas instead was the fear across Jean's face that she was becoming too accustomed to.

The crumple of her chin, the wild animal eyes that searched every space around her. Completely detached from the world or pushed over the edge by it. Something in Jean had collapsed, and Hailey felt lost in the space this had left. 

Something was following her in her nightmares, and it scared her as much as the men from the bar. Hailey wondered if Jean's clinging was some desperate way to deal with this, not the genuine, stripped back expression that she had found herself, despite herself, hoping it to be.

As Jean's potentially manipulative respite in her arms played in Hailey's mind, and she caught a flash of her own tight, frowning expression in the metal, she snapped the hood shut and shouted to Jerry that she was taking lunch early.

\--

The sun shone golden through the small windows, providing an unusual lightness to the loft, by the time Hailey got home. She found Jean reading, feet in stockings and tucked underneath her on the beaten, comfortable couch. 

Seeing Jean unstirred at her entrance, the gentle domesticity of her pose amidst warm light and swirling dust, Hailey felt a heat rise inside her and prickle at her eyes. Time and time again since Jean's arrival, she had found herself daydreaming of such an evening: of a sticky heat between them so that one’s moves would be felt by the other through the ripple of the air, of Jean safe and dozing. Even if the circumstances were syncopated to her dreams, Hailey was happy.  
As the light outside dimmed, they settled into the calmest night since Jean had moved in. Conversation did not flow, but Hailey did not push it to do so. Jean remained rapt in her book - a modest paperback - except through dinner. Hailey tried to settle into tinkering, but her mind stalled as it had all day. Instead she sat at the kitchen table over steaming tea and a borrowed copy of A Study In Scarlet, which lay open and skimmed as she focussed on the hairs at the nape of Jean's neck pulled taught into her bun, the occasional flex as Jean followed the turning of a page.

Jean revelled in this comfortable silence; the lack of questions, the steady waters of her stomach as nothing caused upheaval between the pair. She told herself perhaps this was a perfect middle ground, an even keel of risk and reward as they lived their lives out at arms length. But she felt a soft prickle on the back of her neck, and would have to reread paragraphs and pages at a time.

\--

As the black of night fell, the pair made their way to bed, Jean propped up on pillows still with her book while Hailey fussed with her roller. With a pained exhale, she anounced:

"It'll have to do." before making to flop in her bed. From her pillow, she bore her eyes into Jean's stoic face. Jean let out the faintest huff at this pressure. "So, we should catch up with the girls soon. See if they got any further than we did." Hailey said quietly across the room.

"Mhmm." Jean motioned, as she leant for her tea at the bedside, giving no indication that this bothered her.

"I'm free all tomorrow..." Hailey pushed on.

"The girls are all working tomorrow. So am I. It'll have to wait until the evening." Jean said, returning to her book with an easy tone.

Hailey felt the original fire flare inside her, crying of sooner rather than later to save more lives, but in the calm of the evening, she settled. The heat of the day filled the space between her and her covers, and in the safety of cosiness lulled her to sleep.

Jean felt a restlessness turn over her mind after many hours of reading, and lay herself down at the end of a chapter, repeating a mantra, of sorts, that she would fall into an easy sleep after an easy day. A whisper creeped over her mind, too, that perhaps the night would let her be, and she drifted off to the rise and fall of Hailey's silhouette.

\--

_The sharp clack of her heels reverberated in the narrow hallway, thick with paint. The door, an eggshell blue, floated into view from the distance, instead of from above, and she realised the usual steep steps were missing from beneath her feet. Her footstep rung out in a slow pendulous beat in time with the strong, steady thud of her heart, when she could finely reach out to the door._

_The room shone with a golden light from small windows adorned with tattered, tired curtains, and the bench from the previous night was once again a sofa, though more tattered and sunken than usual. The mess strewn around her feet trailed as it always did, but it was accented with more now: the wood darker, raw, and less sanded than the usual smooth, lacquered boards, littered with sawdust in the cracks. Still, she pressed on to the bedroom door with a hollow thud of her footsteps as scurf swayed down in the thick atmosphere._

_As the previous night, the room clung with cold salty air and shone with weak light. The desk was littered with more cups and plates of tea and toast detritus, and the same scurf littered deep into the fading blue carpet. The bed lay lumpy and dishevelled as before, and the blankets twisted tossed to the side. She never knew why, but the familiar snap in her brain told her she needed to reach out and find what was beneath the seemingly empty sheets. As her heart started to beat in her ears, and her throat grew tangy from the sea salt tingling in rapid breaths, she reached out and was falling, down, again._

\--

Hailey's sleep was sliced open with the sharp yelp across the darkness. The jolt of her body barely caused an intake of breath in the split second it took for her to rise into the room and stride to Jeans side. Without thought or hesitation, she settled down next to Jean's fretting body, and encased the pair of them in the blankets. Instinctively, Jean pressed her face into Hailey's chest, but their hands still clenched their fists at each other's backs as they drifted off.

\--

Jean had woken up to an empty bed a second morning in a row. Even in the morning light, she felt the coolness of the space next to her. _So this was how it was going to be_ , she thought; _this was how she had made it_. The routine between the pair thrummed a different rhythm to her heart and head, muted and tinny, falling through crackles in noise. She felt lost in the space between wanting to wake up to Hailey beside her, and wanting to keep her away. She sighed, and dropped her head hard into her pillow: _this is what she had done_.

From the living space, she heart the clatter of crockery and usual punctuation of damns and sucking air through teeth from the minor chaos that always surrounded Hailey, particularly in the kitchen. Jean tuned in to this uneven beat and pictured Hailey, and a morning of walking pad-footed to the table, of her arms curling around Hailey's waist from behind, her lips against the hot skin of her neck. Hailey's smirk in the edge of her vision, trying to act like she wouldn't drop the egg perched on her spatula. 

This could be that morning, but Jean was not brave. She knew that now.

Instead, she readied herself quickly - a habit still not shaken from the war - and made her way to the table quietly. Hailey turned, no great shock at her appearance, even a gentle smile and an _oh you’re up_ as she plated up bacon and eggs. Jean found it indulgent, still, but scarfed it down none the less.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Exhausted and starving.” She said amicably, the air between them steady but thin. A moment falter between them - perhaps it was obvious why Jeans body should cry out so. But Hailey smiled, and dissipated it.

“Ah maybe I’m just getting to be a good cook now I’ve got someone round to appreciate it.” she said jovially, taking a swig of her coffee. Jean, across the table, cradled her mug in one hand and her full fork in the other in an uncharacteristic zeal.

“I overslept; I have a shift at the bookstore today.” Jean states, unprompted besides Hailey’s quizzical look.

“Oh yeah, course.” Hailey responded with a smirk. “And I get to play hooky.” She said, languishing back in her chair, socked foot on the table, tilting backwards precariously. Jean's hand scrambled down her cutlery and mug, and made for her jacket and bag when she stilled, incredulous, at Hailey’s foot on the table. 

With a thud and wan look, Hailey dropped her balancing act, and Jean busted herself out of the door with a quick _see you this evening_.

Jean's day passed in the blur of an uneventful if demanding time. Among the rush of transactions, calculated change, and recommendations, it was almost like the previous few days fell into a blackspot of memory, removed, distant. The chase, the body, even the strained space between herself and Hailey. The fits and starts and failures between them. And just as she would think of her, she would be flooded with queries from schoolgirls, raging housewives, and vilified husbands seeking retribution. Turning away, the reality would threaten to sink in.

After her short shift, she trammed home in the undying and stifling afternoon. Almost drunk on syrupy air, she daydreamed about opening the door to a different life: a life in slow motion, caught in golden late afternoon light and dust rays as she swayed her body against Hailey's in a hello, noses squashed and smiles daring the other to kiss first.

The corridor stung cool as she made her way to the loft door. She opened it to the familiar scene of Hailey over the bench, as she seemingly had been all day. Littered around her were mugs of tea, dregs at the bottom or soggy bags and steepers. The sink lay full of knives slick with butter, and plates were strewn on every surface and dusted with crumbs. Time moved slowly, and taps dripped. Within the enormity of life, Hailey made a mess. What had she done.

Jean dropped her bag with a heavy sigh.

Hailey looked up, a smile dissipating at Jean's disappointed face.

"I'm going to freshen up." Jean announced, before Hailey could even mutter a hello. Hailey trailed after her.

"Ah dang I'm sorry; I lost track of time." she flustered, as Jean glared at her via the bathroom mirror. "I'll sort it out now." and she made to the living area.

"There's no time." Jean pressed, terse breath blowing out the words, lips purse against a minimal smear of (neutral) lipstick. Hailey faltered under her gaze as Jean wheeled around.

"Look I said I'm sorry alright." Hailey snapped defensively, a crack in her brow.

"It's fine." Jean sighed tightly, dropping her eyes. She knew she was being cold, even she knew the tense of her face that iced the air, and yet could not stop herself. "But if you think you can go out and save the world you should at least be prepared to tidy up after yourself." and she made to sweep out of the bathroom.

"Hey it's not that bad." Hailey spat, following after her, collecting a precarious plate as she went.

Jean stopped dead. Not so bad? She saw the yellow patches on the ceiling, the whistle of draft through a crack in the window. The detritus of life and uncharacteristic open air. A pleading, ruddy face looking at her. This was not her life; this was the life of a stranger somehow careened off course, surely, and the press of Hailey made her recoil into infuriation even further.

A clock ticked across the room. No doubt it kept the wrong time, though it charted its passage. Jean shifted inside herself; whether it really was so bad, but they at least had someplace to be.

"We have to meet the girls." Jean sighed. "Just tidy up when we get back. Please."

\--

The diner was a flurry of suits catching desperate evening meals. Jean and Hailey slouched towards the bar a moment late, Iris and Olivia waiting, as they watched Millie frenzy around the room.

"I don't know if roller skates would be help or a hindrance." Millie faux cried in way of hello, as she pressed her hot cheek to Jean and Hailey's in turn. "Be with you when I can!" she added, flying off to an irate table of greasy looking men with her notebook out.

"So, anything useful at the docks?" Jean posed, once niceties were out of the way.

Olivia grimaced. "No. Fat lot of good it did bothering Bryce with it, even with Millie. Please tell us you had more luck at the bar." she looked on gently, as if the situation could burst under the pressure. Hailey stiffened, unusually quiet and disinterested several seats away.

"Ah no." Jean said, shortly. "Nothing much to report." she dared a glance at Hailey, who skirted her gaze to the counter.

"So we're back at square one." Iris bemoaned, slapping her gloves down.

"Square one? Nothing at the bar?" Millie asked, looking to Jean and Hailey, her expression matching the day-long droop of her hair. Hailey shrugged, her shoulders hunched and tight.

"Bryce isn't too irate, is he?" Jean asked breezily, drawing Millie's quizzical gaze from the redhead beside her.

"Oh pish - you know what he's like when we start out. Just likes to drag his heels." Millie quipped, and placed a hand on Olivias crossed arms on the counter. "It's how he convinces himself he's still in charge." she added with a meaningful look. Surveying the suddenly lacklustre group, she cried: "Milkshakes?" with a forced smile. Olivia, Jean, and Iris wanly smiled to decline, and she moved to press Hailey again.

"I ain't a kid." Hailey spat back, against herself. She had chewed her thumbnail near raw, her brow knotted and leg bouncing against the counter.

"Just thought it might help." Millie whispered back, shooting Jean a look under stern brows. Jean responded with mild incredulity, and the moment passed.

"What is there to do now." Hailey's voice wandered from the distant spot at the counter, as she still bore her eyes into the middle distance. It was not so much a question as an admission, an acceptance. The three heads turned to face her.

"It's not hopeless." Olivia gently stressed, a subtle outreach of her hand. "We could still find an ID. And the family may even let us do an autopsy." She presented to the group. "I even convinced Bryce to widen the search. So far we've stuck with missing persons reports within the precinct, but this afternoon he sent out a memo to the wider district. We've just got to hope it doesn't make him look like a schmuck." she added with a wry smile, evidently quoting _verbatim_.

"So we've got to hope some family spends their Saturday IDing their kids' body?" Hailey shot back, almost unconsciously.

"Hailey!" Iris snapped, just as reflexively.

"Sorry, gosh I -" Hailey stammered. "I'm real sorry Olivia. I just, really want to crack this. I couldn't do it without you."

"You mean we couldn't do it." Iris added, thinly veiled uncertainty in her tone, and Hailey nodded tightly in confirmation. As the air grew tense, Millie breezed over, bracing her arms against the counter with a dejected yet coy look.

"Sorry ladies, managers' orders. Dinner rush, can't be helped." she said, theatrically sweeping them out of the door as they collected their things.

"Shoulda taken the milkshake." Hailey hammed, though it fell flat from her uncommitted lips. Iris and Olivia peeled off to their cars and respective lives, promises of upturned homes and starved children awaiting them as they told it in their goodbyes. Jean and Hailey made for the tram. They rode in terse silence, a destructive force to Hailey's resolve it seemed.

"Thanks for clipping me on." She said, a gentle nudge to Jean's shoulder.

"It's the least I could do." Jean smiled, as the pair stared ahead into the passing city. "You clipped me on the other night, after all." she added, with a sniff, and a further smile. Hailey turned to her, bemused that Jean would feel indebted over this simple nicety after being pursued. Jean fussed with her handbag on her lap, and eventually Hailey dropped her eyes to the blur of lights ahead of them.

They rode the remainder of the way in silence, halfway to comfortable, as the city dimmed and night air cooled.

\--

Hailey grimaced in the mirror at her perfectly rolled bangs. She had quickly tidied the moment they had returned home, unprompted, and she would intermittently rage about its pointlessness with slams of cloths and sponges. Now, her fingers were restless and clammy, and she wanted something to be mad about. Dramatically, she threw herself on the bed like bellyflopping into a murky pond, but the soft mattress rebounded her gently, absorbing her fury. She sighed.

"You could just grow them out." Jean offered from across the room, sipping from her mug of tea as she read propped up in bed. Hailey turned onto her back and huffed.

"It's not my bangs." she groaned, pressing her fingers to her brow. "I'm sorry I got you all messed up in a wild goose chase. I guess you were right." she said, flopping her arm to the side.

"What are you talking about?" Jean questioned, finally turning her attention fully to Hailey. "You heard Olivia; the search just got wider. We might still find a family, even get an autopsy." Hailey turned to meet her eyes.

"You're not gonna say you told me so?" she asked, dumbfounded. "You're not pissed at me?" she pressed again, propping herself up on her elbow.

"No I'm not." Jean mumbled, placing her tea down and dodging Hailey's questioning stare. "As a matter of fact, it never even crossed my mind." The storm inside Hailey stopped drumming against her skin, thrashing in her heart and mind, but gave way only to an endless, featureless grey sky. "I'm not just looking to take the easy way out. I should hope you know me better than that by now." Jean added, with a syrupy sarcasm, and a pointed look at Hailey. She merely twitched a smile in response, not meeting Jean’s eye. Continuing her schtick, Jean over-articulated return to her book - though she failed to find any words before her. Hailey sighed, lugging her body to face the wall, and feigned sleep.

\--

_The harsh, fast echos of her footsteps seeped into a constant ring around her as the door swum up from the distance. Yellow light from paned windows was lost into thick paint lacquered metal, she noticed, but amongst this absurdity, she still turned the handle._

_The room of cosy nooks and crannies grew square and harsh around her, dark bare wood underfoot and trails of dust, threadbare curtains torn, dripping in golden light. Tight sofas of embroidered flowers and deep oak turned pillowed couches of worn leather. Tables of bare wood and nicked corners. The scatter of debris, meaningless and thoughtless, now smashed mugs leaking molded tea, curled crusts of toast skidded from plates, grease stains, and screws. She followed them to the bedroom door, unable to pay them much conscious mind._

_The bedroom also vexed in its squareness, the open space pressed upon by the dampness and heat, and darkness of walls and floor, faded with dust and wear. Furniture shifted, scattered, littered with the debris of life. And the sheets, tangled and wet, clenched as if her hands were already holding it. But it was never to be, because as she reached out, she was falling._

\--

They awoke to the sharp, tinny ring of the telephone, and felt the warm soft skin of the other against them. With the jolt, they knew the other was awake too. Jean recoiled from Hailey's chest, disoriented, trying to shake the sluggishness. Immediately, she regretted it; a cold pang in her body crying out to be held again, for the opportunity to revel in it. The first morning she had awoken in Hailey's arms, she had rested for a moment, true, but still had not felt the lazy graze of skin against skin. The moment fleeted as Hailey, faster, more alert, perhaps even more ashamed, slipped from the tangle of limbs and away into the living space.

Around Jean, the silence of the room, the marked absence of Hailey in the cold, grew, ringing in her ears. She noticed the beating of her heart. Gulping, blushing, she resolved to eavesdrop on the conversation.

Mere moments had passed since they had been woken, and though time ballooned in Jean's thought, Hailey got to the phone before the fourth chime.

"Yarner." Jean heard her say, trying to discern if she imagined a stiffness in her greeting; if it was truly different from her usual bouncing drawl. She continued, "Oh hey...you're serious? No, I mean, that's good I guess, considering. Mhmm...mhmm. Now? No yeah sure, I'll...I'll wake her up.", her voice tightening, high and thin. Jean felt a deep rise and fall of her chest, distinctly aware of her physicality in the empty room, cool air against hot skin. Her limbs were jelly, she was sure, and she daren't move. Everything fragile around them would be sure to break. She snapped back to focus at the sound of the handset in the receiver.

Hailey sped into the room and across to the bathroom with locked limbs and no look to Jean, who sat still in bed, blanket clutched in a clammy fist at her chest. She heard the tap squeak open, the instant gush of water from Hailey’s zeal, and a more frantic clatter than usual.

Jean’s curiosity piqued, and overpowered her stiff awkwardness. In her long nightgown, she padded over to the bathroom doorframe. From it, she watched Hailey scrub at her face, hard, large scrubs with the flat of her hand, her face squashed and lathered in between. She did the same washing off the soap, splashing water and suds at her feet, before a perfunctory attempt to dry off.

In her avoidance of Jean’s reflection in the mirror above the sink, she admitted she knew about her presence. Jean leant against the jamb, a newer habit, gentle fingers against the wood. She was sure if they were idle, her hands would be wringing.

“That was Olivia. They got an ID.” Hailey said flatly, with harsh raps of her toothbrush against the sink, before starting to brush with considerable force. She had offered Jean only a momentary, cold look.

“Well that’s -“ Jean began, stopping in thought. These things were never _good_. “It’s for the best. Anything else?” Hailey spat into the basin, and quickly stormed past Jean and back to the bedroom with a wipe of her forearm. 

“Just that it’s some out of precinct lah-dih-dah family. The girls want to meet at Iris’. Now.” Hailey said, rifling through her drawers for clothes, her back to Jean.

“Now?” Jean responded, flustered.

Hailey wheeled around, tugging a jumper over her head, and shrugged, meeting Jean’s eyes as little as she could. She made for the living space, “I’ll make some toast while you get dressed.” she sighed, some glimmering kindness amongst her withdrawal. With a start, Jean made to get ready.

—

They took the long tram ride in silence, Hailey’s spread legged gruffness easing as she finally got into A Study In Scarlett, and Jean took to reading too. The air between them was split in the firecracker of life that greeted them at Iris’ porch. Cadence ran out in an instant, screaming for Hailey. She faltered for only a moment, but picked the girl up under her arms and spun her around so her legs flared out, over and over again. She alighted her onto the path to a fit of giggles.

“Mummy said you’d probably be late but I told her I knew you wouldn’t be.” Cadence said, giggling on wobbly legs.

“Aw I wouldn’t dream about it with you on the look out.” Hailey quipped back with a subtle salute, sauntering by to the front door. Iris stood in the frame, a morose smile on her face, as she hugged both women in turn.

“Play in the courtyard a while baby. I’ll come get you for juice in a little bit.” Iris called out with a wave, and kicked a rock to the base of the door to keep it open. The three women made their way down the homely yellow hallway to the kitchen, where the relaxed chatter of Millie and Olivia could be heard.

Hailey barely nodded hello as she bee lined to the table, covered in open files and a scattering of photographs. Jean hugged Millie, who had risen but was markedly less enthusiastic than their previous meetings.

“Loathe though I am to get such an early wake up call on a rare Saturday off - this just might be worth it.” she said to Jean, voice gruff, eyes tired, sunglasses sure enough on the countertop. She positioned herself next to Jean, and watched Hailey pawing at the papers.

“So what’s the run down.” Jean motioned to Olivia.

“The precinct got the call last night - looks like widening the search worked out because a report from one of the stations on the east coast of the city picked it right up. Missing girl by the name of Shelly Kermets. Reported after disappearing at her own party three nights before you found her. Her parents drove in to make the ID first thing this morning and...” she motioned to the table. “Her obit will be in the morning gazette.” 

“Pretty well off gal...not we were thinking at all.” Hailey mumbled.

“And her parents have agreed to an autopsy. Her mother is heartbroken, but you know how some dads can be. He wants whoever did this locked up.” Olivia continued, resting cautious eyes on Hailey, who remained stoic.

“And get this. Shelly Kermets is...was in the pharmacokinetics class I assist with at Berkeley.” Iris noted, shuffling Hailey to a page of longer prose, presumably a background.

“Iris I’m so sorry.” Jean offered. “What a sick coincidence.”

“So what, you’re gonna wait for the morning paper to circulate, give them a call with your condolences?” Hailey shot, suddenly firing into action.

“Is that even moral?” Jean posited, but was quickly reassured.

“I would do it for any of my students, besides it just so happens that we may be able to help, then...” Iris shrugged of the conclusion. “Anyway, they listed a memorial service at their house a little later today.”

“Already?” Jean balked.

“It‘s possible the autopsy will delay their reclamation of the body for some time; a lot of families do this in lieu of a funeral proper at the start.” Olivia explained, nonchalantly.

“So I was going to head over there and try to get a better idea of her circle, maybe even her movements at the party.” Iris said, as if it were the most obvious thing. “Her mother seems to think she was an angel, we really don’t have much else to go on.”

“I’m coming with you.” Hailey said, her voice a little too loud. She rested her fingers on a high school headshot of Shelly. Even in the poorly lit, generic backdrop and grainy shot, Shelly’s image exuded a life and poise. Her eyes sparkled and her smile was warm, surprisingly genuine seeming in the evidently false arena. Her teeth were perfect, her eyes and hair bright in the black and white, a row of pearls delicately drooping over her clavicle, and unbroken porcelain skin with a gentle flush of her cheek.

The women around her stammered, unsure. Jean and Iris fretted for her psyche; the deep feeling quagmire amidst grief would surely not go well. Millie and Olivia looked to each other with subtly furrowed brow, concerned for Hailey's propriety, or rather, lack thereof. She was asking to burst into a society she refused to conform with, amidst her own mission, amidst a particular pain none of them could contextualise.

"Are you sure? It's bound to be pretty stuffy." Millie pressed over her mug of coffee, before Jean could speak. Truthfully, she had felt the tense of Jean's body at her side, a tell tale sign of unadulterated vitriol about to spout. Millie knew Jean would have made it even further than she had in London if she could just learn to filter her thoughts when she actually needed to. But amongst the huts of Bletchley, amidst fog covered dell and frantic farm hands, she had never had to. Jean was a woman raised not for peace.

"I can manage it, okay?" Hailey snapped, collecting the paper leaves together hastily into the manila file. "I'm not gonna go hog wild at a funeral for chrissake." She said turning, folding her arms and finally meeting the groups eyes.

"No one's saying you would..." Millie countered, a small advance and hands level to calm the space. She stepped in front of Jean ever so slightly, hearing the small crackles as she threatened to protest.

"It's just -" Olivia started, before stopping dead under Hailey's gaze.

"Just what?" Hailey snapped again, evidently steadfast. Olivia looked to Millie, who looked to Jean, who merely stared at Hailey, steadily, deeply, unfathomably. Hailey stared back.

Iris looked between the pair, trying to decipher the tension that hung around them. "Well, do you even have something black to wear?" she asked, finally cracking open the space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An unintended long chapter before things really kick off with the murder-mystery element. Not much happens, but the new dynamic between Jean and Hailey is explored? I also didn't anticipate the motif of evening conversations across the bedroom though I have enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Now that I'm in a more action-heavy period I think it will flow more easily and I'll try to update more regularly.


	5. A Long Length of Wire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hailey and Iris try to piece together the life and death of Shelly Kermets.

Hailey had stormed from the kitchen in a bluster.

All eyes fell to Jean, momentarily. In that instant, she followed her gaze after Hailey. Eventually, when no explanation was forthcoming, Iris followed down the narrow hallway and into the courtyard. Outbursts were the norm from Hailey, even rampages, but outright walkouts sat oddly with them all.

Iris tried to maintain composure in the open space, even in the din of footsteps behind her and the whirlwind of Hailey. This wasn't some suburban vacuum, but people still talked and curtains still twitched. But as she approached the gate, she saw Hailey yanking open her trunk, and pulling out a black expanse of fabric. _Of course_ , Iris had though with a relaxed sigh, _there's always a spare pair in there_. There were probably three more buried in the recesses of her cupboards. Hailey brandished the overalls at the group.

"These'll have to do." she had announced, looking between each gawping face in turn.

Hailey had changed quickly, and the group had spent a couple of hours at the table pouring over the papers. Shelly had lived in the affluent San Mateo suburb, and gone missing not just at a party at her own house, but in her own honour. Shelly had been part of an emergent debutant scene, a season of parties starting up along the ritzy coast protected from the pacific winds. At 19 years old, she was a freshman at Berkeley focused on human biology - though she had yet to declare a major. She'd gone missing late into the night, and her parents had grown concerned as the crowd thinned and Shelly showed no signs of turning in. They had reported to a southern precinct, and in the slow relay of information, the match of her blonde hair and pale skin hadn't been alerted until Olivia had pressed Bryce to widen the search.

“I had a pen pal back in my school days, from the states, who was into this debutant scene. But she was far younger than Shelly; she was prepping when we were, gosh, fifteen?” Millie said over the settled silence in the kitchen. Candace had taken up residence on the entirety of the living room floor, and the group knew to stay away with the files.

“Oh those old money families are all the same. Like to act all refined - and refined folk don’t marry off child brides, you know. Stick her in a good school, like her daddy went to a good school, and she’ll meet a good man.” Iris sighed, rubbing her temples and smirking across the table to Millie. “I’ve seen her around in the first term, she’s a lovely, sweet girl, but this debutant thing gets in their heads, makes them preoccupied with the boys. It’s almost not out of interest, it’s more like sport. Not that her grades wouldn’t have made the whole thing worthwhile.” She sighed at a picture of Shelly. “She was a bright girl. Lot of bright girls this year.” Iris looked up to the group, grounding herself back in her kitchen, and shied a little from her reverie.

“Besides, times have changed since you were a school girl.” Jean quipped with a friendly smirk to Millie. Feigning shock, Millie swatted at her with the morning paper.

“You minx, I’m not that old and you know it.” She cried as she aimed for Jean’s bun. Jean erupted in laughter in return, a small move to block the paper, and Iris and Olivia broke in spite of themselves. As the table slipped into giggles and chatter over sipped tea, their reason for being here, on their Saturday, in their lives, became nascent: they helped people, yes, and they realised their potential, but they also garnered a camaraderie that peacetime propriety and the new social scaping would never allow such a group. They moulded themselves into spaces created around them, mother, wife, administrator, marm, tease, immigrant. But in these moments, they eased into their true selves.

Hailey watched from the counter. Her eyes bore into Millie and Jean, into the ease their history offered them. This joshing emerged between Jean and herself in fits and starts, but always seemed to veil something, yet she found herself jealous none the less. The group's laughs, the chink of their tea cups and slow pace over the files grated on her. As they started to die down, she broke into the circle, hands to pictures and prose in black and white.

“We‘ve still gotta work out how she washed up on my doorstep.” She said over a quieter table. She fiddled with the papers some more, and made her way back to the countertop with several leafs while the women looked to each other in shock.

“We were kind of hoping we could make more sense of that at the house.” Iris explained. “There’s really not much to go on here.”

The conversations thinned over the next few minutes, and any peace to read was ripped open by Candence’s excitement at the thought of sleeping over at Olivia’s. At this hour, the memorial would be in full swing and two relative Unknown’s wouldn’t be too conspicuous, they all reckoned, and goodbyes were said; Olivia, offering to take Jean and Millie most of the way with Cadence, and Iris and Hailey setting off for San Mateo.

The ride was long in the midday sun, the city bursting out of its confines to languish in the early hot spring days. After stopping and starting for several blocks, they reached a full standstill. Hailey, buried in the file, was uncharacteristically quiet, and Iris started to fidget in the drivers seat amidst the silence.

“What is wrong with you? You’re fretting like a heifer ‘bout to become a mare.” Hailey said, finally being forced out of her concentration. Long nights and days an age ago, Iris’ fretting - wringing hands, pacing, dramatic sighs - had somehow driven her mad and spurred her on at the same time. Now, years after the Presidio, it drew out an uneasy, conditioned stress from deep within her. She remembered her mother, a quiet, clawing creature who only had anything to say after church. Hailey might not have known a normal motherly connection, but she felt the fabled frustration with Iris and revelled in it, to a point. “The traffic ain’t even that bad.”

“What are you...” Iris looked from Hailey to the trail of red lights before them. “It’s not that.” She sighed.

“Then why’re you so worked up? You think the killer will be at the memorial?” Hailey asked, beginning to leaf through the file for the guest list the night Shelly was murdered.

“Well, it’s certainly a possibility, but no. Besides, the police are making their way down that list.” Iris said, eyes trained on Hailey.

“Well then what’s wrong? ‘Cos you’re spoookin’ me.” Hailey pressed back at her. Iris’ nostrils flared.

“I was just-“ she faltered, and fidgeted with her ring. “I was just wondering why we’re in this. Because I can’t shake the feeling that I’m in this for you, not this young woman.” Iris said pointedly, at last.

Hailey rolled her eyes dramatically.

“Not you too?” she said, slapping the manilla file on the dashboard. “Is there something so wrong with that?”

“We started out in this because we wanted to help. I’d hate to think that you’d lost sense of the magnitude of what we’re doing.” Iris shot back. It was true, what flared inside them all could distract them from the bodies on pavements and what they truly meant. Lives ended. Horror.

“You don’t think I understand what we do? The...forces we meddle with or whatever. That’s exactly why I pushed so hard.” Hailey retorted. Death and loss had played at the fringes of her world since this had all begun. Friends of friends; some intrinsic part of herself; Jean.

“And maybe that’s precisely the problem.” Iris cried back. “This emotionality is putting us all at risk. It makes you put yourself at risk.”

“I’m happy to take those risks.” Hailey said back, quietly.

“I know you are,” Iris breathed, wetness threatening at the edges of her eyes. “that’s what worries me.” She cupped Hailey’s face, cool leather of her driving glove against hot cheek, and stared at her anew. This was bigger than one case. “You want people to think your some hardy, reckless kid, but you feel deeper than all of us. I just don’t want you getting hurt. Because it just might break you.”

The break lights before then let off in a jerky instant, and Iris scrambled to the wheel, breaking the moment. Hailey sat in silence again, though neglected the folder. Iris was more perceptive than people gave her credit for. They all were, true, but Iris feigned propriety and naïveté like a pro, Hailey had seen it, and now she couldn’t shake the feeling that Iris saw her, and her unruly heart.

—

This was a part of San Francisco that neither of them really frequented, with wide suburban roads and large, stand-alone houses. Each stood distinct, but eerily similar, in whites and beiges, flashes of brick veneer and columns over porches and porticos. The gardens were lush but lifeless, crisp edges on hedges and flower beds. One one side, glimpses of the bay peeked through the spaces between homes.

“Dockside houses?” Hailey posited, looking to Iris. “Did Shelly live on the dock side of the street?” They wound their way a little further down, and saw a familiar car. “Dammit is that Bryce? I thought they’d rope in someone from the local precinct.” Hailey said, sliding down in her seat comically.

“Relax, we have good reason to be here. Besides, I’m sure he’s too busy to pay us much mind.” Iris said quietly as she parked up. Bryce, in his usual suit, was walking to the garden of the next door house, and hadn’t spotted them. She checked the newspaper clipping, and reassured herself that she was at the right home. Still, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention, she gently pulled Hailey to the door by her elbow.

Iris rapped on the door - a rich green colour with a wreath of white roses on the door - and it was swiftly answered. In the doorway stood a formidable woman - she would have towered over Millie, and was just as elegant, though her style was cleaner cut and more muted than the vagabond Harcourt. She was a silver blonde, with hair pulled back to a French roll, and porcelain skin, and held her frame perfectly, so that she appeared taut and completely stationary. Her expression was morose though not sad, and, Hailey noticed, she had not been crying.

Icy blue eyes looked the pair up and down.

“I’m sorry, we’re rather indisposed at the moment.” The woman said, her accent subtle, transatlantic even. She motioned to close the door and turn back into the house, when Iris spoke up with a stutter.

“Oh I believe that may be why we’re here - the memorial. I taught Shelly at Berkeley - Pharmacokinetics. I’m...I’m so sorry for your loss.” she said, hurriedly.

The woman looked her up and down again, eyes tightening over her. If the word pharmacokinetics had flummoxed her, she gave no indication.

“And you are?” She asked, turning her gaze to Hailey.

“I’m her driver.” Hailey said, gruffly, her hands in her pockets. The woman’s evident disdain for the pair grated on her, and she always got snarky when that happened. Iris dared a momentary glance to her. 

The woman sighed. “Very well.” and glided to the side to let them in.

“Get your hands out of your pockets.” Iris hissed quietly in Hailey’s ear as they rounded into the foyer. Hailey obliged, though rolled her eyes in protest.

“And it’s not my loss; it’s my house. I offered it to the Kermets' for the memorial while the detectives searched their home." the woman said, her tone droll.

"And a lovely home it is too." Iris offered. "So you're not Mrs. Kermets?"

"Guire, Cecelia Guire." the woman offered, though did not move to shake Iris' hand as they all exchanged introductions.

"You guys must've been close. You at the party next door the other night then?" Hailey quizzed, as cooly as she could.

"Of course. A girl's first season is one of the most important times of her life." Cecelia said, the smallest sign of life glimmering in her eyes. "My daughter is the same age as poor Shelly, it's her season too." she looked Hailey up and down, and with some disdain, added, "You two should meet. She has even fewer friends now." and she made to leave, stepping between the pair. At the last moment, she stopped on the balls of her feet next to Iris. "Driving gloves? With a driver?" Indeed, Iris' hands were clasping a black leather pair to her chest. She faltered, her throat dry and nerve shot under the imposing gaze of Mrs. Guire.

"Purely aesthetic." she finally managed, "I'm sure you understand." Cecelia gave her a final scan with her eyes, and, seemingly satisfied, made her way back to the morose, scattered crowd with a flip comment to help themselves to the buffet. "I can't tell if she's just rude or on to us." Iris muttered to Hailey through gritted teeth.

"And what could she know?" Hailey whispered back, watching the crowd. "But at least we know Shelly lived dockside. That's gotta be how she got in the water."

"Okay, so one of has to try sneak a look at the bottom of the garden, suss out paths she could have taken without being spotted by the party. And work our way down the list of guests, start with the usual suspects; young guys, we'll move on to the dads if we have to." Iris began in hushed tone to Hailey. "It might be worth you starting with Mrs. Guire's daughter..."

"Mrs. Bearden?" a small voice asked across the foyer. Hailey and Iris, hushed immediately, and turned to see a young woman, barely breaking five feet, with damp eyes and a shiny red nose. Iris piqued her head in a momentary question. "Rhianna...Rhianna Guire, from your Pharmaco-"

"Pharmacokinetics, of course." Iris said, making to envelope the girl in a hug, which she gladly took.

"Guire? You're Cecelia's kid?" Hailey asked.

"Yeah, I get that all the time. You wouldn't know it to look at me, I know; I take after my daddy." Rhianna added, a bashful goofiness about her. She was indeed a stark contrast to her mother; her complexion ruddy, hair mousy. She had deep set hazel eyes on a broad face, and a button nose and chubby cheeks that only served to make her even more childish than her demeanour. Her limbs were awkward but strong, it has hard to believe she could be related to the svelte, cold-marbled Cecelia.

"I should have figured. I'm so sorry to hear about your friend." Iris said tenderly, holding her shoulder. "Your mother was just saying you and Hailey should get to know one another."

"That I was." Cecelia's voice rang over the group, and Iris instinctively retracted her hand from Rhianna's shoulder at her appearance. "Rhianna, darling, what have I told you about all of this crying? It's no good for your complexion. Run and powder your nose." she said, pointedly to her daughter.

"I was, um, wondering if you could point me towards Mr. and Mrs. Kermets', I'd like to pass on my condolences directly." Iris said. "It's just...such a big house." as she made a hammy attempt to flatter, Cecelia sighed and motioned her to follow.

As the pair ebbed away, leaving Rhianna and Hailey behind alone, the strange girl sighed, relaxing her figure. A moment passed, Hailey remaining silent. Eventually, Rhianna wiped her eyes and looked her in the face with a broad smile.

"Come to the bathroom with me, won't you?"

Dumbstruck, Hailey agreed, figuring, if anything, Rhianna would have some knowledge of Shelly's movement the night she disappeared. Rhianna grabbed her by the hand, and dragged her up the wide oak staircase to the door of a gleaming white tiled bathroom. Hailey stopped dead at the threshold, causing Rhianna to be comically launched backwards by the inertia as she continued.

"What're you doing silly?" Rhianna asked, still smiling.

"Well aren't you going to...err..." Hailey paused, feeling hot under her collar, motioning to the room with her spare hand.

"I'm just powdering my nose. Even so, we're all girls here." she said, and firmly gripped Hailey's shoulders and pulled her into the room before closing the door and flicking the lock.

"We sure are." Hailey mumbled under her breath, and made to sit on the closed toilet as Rhianna made for the mirror. "So you and Shelly were neighbours. You must've known each other a long time." She probed, finally gaining some composure.

"Oh no, just a few months actually. My folks moved us out here a little after the summer. Daddy taught at Harvard and I was undeclared at Radcliffe. But Shelly was great, when daddy and I moved to Berkeley she encouraged me to take all these sciencey courses like her - that's where I know Mrs. Bearden from - and I just loved it. And Shelly. She was a swell gal, my best friend out here really." She said, somewhat frantically as she pressed her powder puff to her nose and under her eyes. "Well, maybe my only one."

"That must be tough." Hailey offered across the room, locking Rhianna's eyes in the mirror. Rhianna sniffed.

"Yeah, I guess so." she said, fiddling with her compact. "But mama said, Shelly would want me to push on for the sake of my season." she added, with impact.

"This debutant thing is pretty important to you guys, ain't it?" Hailey asked, truly flummoxed.

"Well it has to be. It's where you find your husband so you can live happily ever after." Rhianna said, turning on Hailey.

"And you think you need a husband for your happily ever after?" Hailey quizzed, despite herself.

"Oh I don't know." Rhianna said, dropping her posture sitting on the edge of the bathtub closer to Hailey. "Truth be told, mama didn't much like Shelly. Said she got these ideas in my head about being a scientist and not needing a husband to take care of me. Oh you should have seen her when I told her I was going to be a researcher - I've never seen her so pink!" she began to laugh, slapping Hailey's knee gently. After a moment, she sighed, sad again. "Shelly didn't much like any of this stuff, you know. She spent most of these parties with me, avoiding the boys. Mama did always say the west coast didn't know how to act." she made her way back to the mirror, grabbing a lipstick.

"So Shelly didn't sneak off anywhere, with anyone, that night?" Hailey asked. Rhianna questioned her with a furrow of her brow, and downturned mouth. "You know, you can't help thinking about these things." Hailey added, looking away. "Sorry."

"No I get it. I've run through it a million times myself." Rhianna said, smacking the colour over her lips. "But no; she barely spoke to anyone all night. Danced with her daddy, her uncle, her cousin. And me. A guy who's at the parties, Donnie Phink, hung around a bit too much for Shelly's politeness, but nothing scary."

Hailey drifted off into concentration; this Donnie Phink may be the only lead they had. And if Shelly wanted to avoid her party more than the guy, she might just have been willing to go on a walk to the waterfront.

"So what about you? Have you had a coming out party yet?" Hailey near choked on her tongue at Rhianna's question, clear as day across the bathroom.

"I'm sorry a what?" she got out, trying not to wheeze.

"A coming out party. You know, where you're presented to society." Rhianna continued, not too fazed by Hailey's outburst.

"Ah, no, no I haven't." Hailey responded.

"Oh, well, you should hurry up. Mama thinks nineteen is ancient as it is." Rhianna said, pointedly, rouging her cheeks subtly with dabs of her finger.

"I think it might be a little late for me." Hailey offered, though Rhianna only piqued her head innocently. "I'm older than I look."

Rhianna, satisfied with this explanation, added some final flourishes to her face. But as she caught her reflection in the mirror, she held it, and held it, some searching look in her eyes, face slack, lost in the effort. Hailey watched, seeing the pain spread through her body, almost tangibly, from a broken heart and tangled mind.

"We don't have to go back down there right away, you know. We can always wait it out up here a little while." Hailey said, softly, against the harsh reverberation of the room. Rhianna turned, and sat on the edge of the bath again. Her body was tense, fighting within itself, and she looked back to the mirror morosely. "You can always put more make up on later." Hailey pressed again, her hand on Rhianna's back. It began to shake - practically convulse - as jagged, breathy sobs fell out of her small body. 

Hailey remembered the night Jean was missing, how she hadn't slept but gulped a long forgotten bottle of whiskey before collapsing in tears, hot face against cool porcelain, on her bathroom floor. The force of the world telling you to be quiet while something far bigger raged inside.

"Thank you." Rhianna said, and rested her hand on Hailey's at her knee.

\--

Iris had spent a few moments with Shelly's parents when Cecelia came for her. Mr. and Mrs. Kermets were an average old money couple: she, a petite, bouffanted blonde in a black two-piece skirt-suit, and he, a well put together though plain man in tailored charcoal. They had been overjoyed, in the way only grieving people can be, at the image Iris conjured of their bright daughter. Cecelia approached, and said her husband was keen to chat with another Berkeley woman; _he taught there, didn't you know?_

"I hate to interrupt but he is insistent." she said.

Cecelia lead her through the long, wide hallways of their home; dark rich mahogany against pristine neutral white, floral arrangements of deep green leaves against ivory roses. With the mourners in black, the house split into a monochrome, binary wasteland. Eventually, Iris was shown into a study that exploded with rich colour and texture; mismatched wood grain and leather bound books, ships in bottles, and jewel tone upholstery.

In the middle of the room, regarding the bookshelf that lined the back wall, was a rotund older man in an extravagant if perfectly tailored suit. He reminded Iris of a distinctive character, the Penguin, in her son's comic books, though jollier - not in disposition, but the rosiness of his cheeks and warmth in his eyes.

"Ah, here she is." he said, reaching to shake Iris' hand - and whole arm with it. "Guire, Geralt Guire. When Cece here told me there was a Berkeley woman around I just had to talk some shop." he motioned to the host, but the doors were already closing. "My wife. Gracious hostess." Geralt went to a drinks trolley in the bay window, and motioned to a whiskey decanter.

"Just a finger, please." Iris said, in way of response.

"Now, what's your field?" he asked as he poured.

"Applied mathematics. I'm a research assistant in taking maths and using it to understand real world problems. That's how I got on your daughter's class - the body is one big puzzle waiting to be solved, after all." Iris said, taking the glass and perching it on her knee at the seat in front of the desk.

"Ah - now I'm a literature man see - Faust, mainly. Probably why we've never bumped into each other." he said, clinking their drinks.

"Probably." Iris said, heavily, putting the liquid to her lips but not actually sipping. The pair smiled wanly at each other for a pause. "It's so gracious of you to host Shelly's memorial. I'm sure her family appreciate it." she made across the silence.

"Bah, least we could do. Shelly was a whip-smart girl who had nothing but time for my daughter since we moved here." he said with a wave, practically toddling back around his desk. "And my wife insisted. Honestly, parties aren't for me - this is just another one really."

"Yes I noticed Rhianna slipped in just under the course selection deadline. Where did you move from?" Iris pressed.

"East coast, Boston. Harvard man myself, it's where I met my wife." Geralt said, before pausing over his whiskey with a deep sigh.

"That's a big move." Iris continued, gently, tugging at his reverie with her tone.

"Nasty business." his words hissed through his teeth, though he had no malice in his tone. "It was a...sad summer. Several girls Rhianna's age disappeared, never found. It was my wife's idea, again, actually. Rhianna's always been a little...weak minded, a follower. Emotionally responsive, my wife says. And it did tear her apart. She thought it best to take Rhianna away from all of that, but..." he trailed off, emoting with his glass and sighing.

"We can't control these things." Iris comforted, against herself. This early on, she had no reason to believe he couldn't have - and now a trail of missing girls followed him. "You've done what's best for Rhianna, she'll be alright. You know she's the only one with better marks than Shelly's."

Geralt chuckled, "I'm aware. Just don't tell my wife; she says those musty library's are doing nothing for her complexion." The pair continued to joke around, Iris offering some suggestions to see the city, until Geralt finished his whiskey with a swig and said he would have to show his face, _lest be called antisocial._

Iris walked to the back door, which swept the cold bay air in through the large, gleaming white kitchen and into the foyer. She stood on the grey slate patio, and took a deep breath, berating herself for not asking Geralt's recollection of the party. She sighed, and threw the entirety of her whiskey in the nearby rosebush.

She barely registered the clatter of feet down the stairs until Hailey sidled up next to her.

"There's a guy, Donnie Phink - he's on the list. Apparently, he bothered Shelly a little too much, and she maybe got a little too snappy." Hailey hissed as she looked around, and Iris tried to press her own points. "You need to find him." Hailey finished, before Iris could explain what she had found. Hailey's jitters made more sense as Rhianna bound over to them and grabbed her by the arm.

"Hailey, come meet the girls, you're gonna love them." Rhianna said with bright eyes and wide smile, right to Hailey's face. As she was dragged back into the house, she hissed:

"Find Donnie."

As she was left alone again, Iris looked over the even, deep green grass. The garden gently rolled off, a smooth edge onto the bay, and the far shore was hazy in the distance. Placing her glass on the slate, she made for the edge of the flat.

The bay spread out before her, her skin finally cool in the salt spray and gentle breeze after the long slog in the city and stuffy classrooms. A path of turf zig zagged down the steep slope to the lapping tide and narrow stilt dock, pressed tight against the hill. No boats or dinghies were moored, and it seemed unkempt. Even the shed to her right, a mason-veneered slate coloured block, seemed ignored. The Guire's didn't appear to be water-folk.

She sighed, and looked to her left; from here, she could see into the Kermets' lawn; it was separated by a sparse row of conifers. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the mourners were well rapt in the memorial, and focussed on the property. The Kermets' seemed to have two paths: a well manicured staircase of sun-bleached wood filled with gravel, and a narrow grass zig-zag similar to the Guires'. The former lead to a bobbing dingy with tucked away oars, but as Iris followed the second path with her eyes - down a sharp slope from the edges of the Kermets' lawn - blocked by a bush, she saw a slither of black and white, and a puff of smoke.

Slowly, even on the soft ground, she advanced to catch a glimpse of the smoker. Stood looking out to sea, was a young gentleman in a charcoal three-piece, though his nice suit clashed against the rest of him. His hair, a deep auburn, was slick not with brylcreem but grease, so that sharp edges poked at his forehead and it stuck to the nape of his neck at the back. His face was pockmarked with red acne and old scars turned purple and brown, and had a sheen of sweat or oil. Every time he would lift the cigarette to take a drag, white flakes of skin would crack open on his lips. With disregard, he tossed the butt down the side of the hill and turned before Iris could hide.

"Shit-" the boy began, jumping back. "What the hell are you doing here?" he said, holding his hand to his sternum.

"Much the same you were; Just taking a break." Iris answered, her mind turning over. "These things can be a lot to handle on top of what's already happened." she kept her eyes on him, and watched as he looked to his shoes, and then out to the bay.

"You're not going to tell my folks, are you?" he finally asked. Iris took her chance, slipping ever so slightly as she quickly dipped down the slope. The boy looked at her, perplexed.

"Not if you give me one." she said, holding out her hand, and he obliged, lighting a new one for himself with a match before lighting Iris'.

"Sorry it's...it's more polite to light your own first when you use matches. Something about the fumes." he said, fiddling the box away into his breast pocket, and looking back out to sea. The pair looked out across the bay. "Donald, by the way, but my friend's call me Donnie." he said, and made to shake Iris' hands. She knew something struck her as odd about the boy, and now the back of her mind tingled cold as she introduced herself in return.

"So did you know Shelly well?" Iris asked, as casually as possible.

"I guess. I grew up a couple of houses down across the street. We were friends when we were kids." he added, not meeting Iris' eyes.

"You're still kids." she said, gently.

Donnie scoffed. "Maybe. But you know how it is. Girl like Shelly gets new friends in high school. Then she got to go to college while I'm stuck working for my dad. I only really saw her at these parties anymore." he took a long drag, "It wasn't really the same."

"You were at the party?" Iris asked, and at his shocked look explained how the paper had included some details of the night.

"Yeah well, I barely saw her if that's what you're getting at. And she'd really changed." he sneered a little, before continuing, some storm building inside himself. "Look anyone asks, I didn't tell you this, but last I saw of Shelly and Rhianna were walking right through here to Rhianna's house." he spat, finally fixing Iris in a stare.

"This might be something you want to tell the police. Or at least your parents, Donnie-" Iris began at his pressing, taking a step back as she realised he was advancing ever so slightly.

"I mean, Rhianna comes along and suddenly Shelly has no time for anyone else? You know how they used to talk, right? How they were going to be big lady scientists and research with each other forever and ever until happily ever after, right?" Iris took another step back, careful not to fumble over her heel at the ground began to rise. "Girls like that..." he took a quick final drag of his cigarette and threw it, "they should be in a lab alright."

"What are you talking about?" Iris bluffed, a little louder in the hopes they would be heard.

Donnie sighed, "Forget it." and eased off. Iris exhaled quietly as he looked back to the bay.

"Thank you for the cigarette." she said, stamping it out under her heel, and making her up the slope and back across the lawn. Just as she was clearing across the space, she heard Donnie call back:

"Like she was so much better than me, huh? I got into Berkeley too, y'know! Engineering - god-damn engineering!"

\--

Besides a few odd glances, Donnie's outburst at Iris had gone widely unnoticed. She rushed through the house, spotting Hailey rapt in conversation with a large group of girls. Not having time or capacity to dwell on the oddity, she quickly headed upstairs to the bathroom, and locked the door.

In the closed room, still stark white but guarded by the frosted windows, the smell of smoke hung around her. It tickled at her nose as she tried to steady her breathing. Her mind raced - Donnie's forcefulness, Shelly's last movements with Rhianna, Mr. Guire's telling of missing girls in Boston - but she knew she couldn't get home smelling of smoke. Like a knot in a thread you're trying to sew with, Iris' mind couldn't move on until the smell was sorted.

She snapped open the mirror cabinet, in search of perfume, mints, anything that would work, when her eyes landed on a small huddle of orange and white pill bottles.

Against herself, she riffled through them; _Hydralazine_ and _guanethidine_ for Mr. Guire, which weren't too surprising, but a third bottle read _chlordiazepoxide_ for a one _Miss R. C. Guire_. 

Iris' mind turned over again. A standstill had become a jumbled confusion; benzodiazepine, one like the one prescribed to Rhianna, could easily have killed Shelly Kermets and left no mark. There were just too many options.

Feeling claustrophobic, like in a den of vipers that hadn't noticed your presence yet, Iris tried to make it to the kitchen calmly, and excused Hailey from the group.

"Shouldn't we say our goodbyes?" Hailey protested as Iris marched her out onto the front lawn.

"It'll be fine." Iris insisted, and rushed to the car, and sped back home without looking back.

The sky had grown a soft, powder blue overhead as the afternoon drew to a close, still clear from the sunny day. Wide-open in the suburbs, it began to close in with tall grey buildings as they worked their way back to Hailey's loft, at Iris' insistence to see her to her door. Hailey, mentally exhausted from the conversational gymnastics young women could pull, slumped against the window without protest until the familiar sight of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hailey has no idea how to be friends with a woman if they're not solving murders together.
> 
> Picking up with the murder mystery at last!


	6. A New Codebook

Chapter Six: A New Codebook

Hailey fumbled through the door, depositing her thick ring of keys in the deep pocket of her overalls. She sighed, tired from the full-on afternoon, as she turned into the room, but stopped, startled, at Jean’s frame rising from the kitchen table.

“Jesus-“ she she gasped, grabbing her breast pocket over her heart.

“Is everything alright?” Jean asked, her tone genuine, hurried, as she made her way towards Hailey across the space, palms up, stopping short.

“What - it’s fine.” Hailey said, rocking back on her heels at Jean’s advance, “I’m just tired. It was a lot.” she added, making sense of her evident edginess with a scratch at her brow.

“Go have a lie down. I’ll fetch you some tea.” Jean said, as softly as she could, and Hailey waved her way to the bedroom, already unbuttoning her overalls as she went. “And you can tell me all about it.”

\--

Moments later, Hailey heard the gentle clatter of a teacup on her nightstand; the chink of crockery against crockery against wood. She opened her eyes from the pool of pillows and blankets she’d nestled her heavy head in, to see Jean’s hands falling, falling away from the teacup. She closed her eyes again, expecting to fall into half sleep until the cooler evening set in, until her head could unjumble thoughts on its own. But just as she settled, a quiet pad of footsteps made their way to her. She furrowed her brow, closing her eyes tighter, determined not to peek - peeking would mean hoping.

Something slid against the bedside table again - in what little space there was. As the presence over her receded, she cracked her eyes open. A Study In Scarlet sat beside her tea. Across the room, Jean settled onto her own bed, pillows propped up, tea in one hand, her paperback in the other. Hailey watched through narrow eyes as Jean reposed, quietly, patiently, by her side, for a moment, moment, moment.

“You don’t have to stay ya'know.” Hailey finally said, shifting her body a little. “It wasn’t bad, it was just...intense.”

Jean looked across the room, her eyeline smooth from her book, down Hailey’s body clad in blankets, and back to her face.

“I don’t mind.” Jean said nonchalantly, and sipped at her tea.

The hazy daylight settled through the windows. Hailey stretched out, stacking her vertebrae, and came up onto her elbow. Taking her tea cup in the other hand, she dragged the book into her, the crack between mattress and trunk. Her sip - or slurp - disturbed the air.

“So are you going to tell me what happened?” Jean said, not looking up from her book.

“Nothing too spectacular.” Hailey shrugged off. “I made a friend.” Jean looked across the room at this, and Hailey tried to act neither indignant nor insulted. “Shelly’s best friend, actually. Rhianna. Sweet girl, one of Iris’ students, pretty broken up about it to be honest. Her mum seems intense enough without her best friend disappearing and dying on her.” she went on like she was discussing far away news, fiddling with the book in front of her with her free hand.

“And none of the boys seemed suspect?” Jean asked, some attempt to garner a whole picture.

“None that I spoke to. But I’m sure Iris will have more to add; I don’t know what she got up to.” Hailey breathed, as if the whole thing bored her. It did not.

“You were separated?” Jean asked quickly, against herself.

“It couldn’t be helped. Besides, it was for the best.” Hailey said, going to her book like Jean’s worry didn’t get to her.

Jean nodded, accepting the brief explanation of what had happened, or at least knowing she could not extract anything further from Hailey in this state. She had not been there; she could not picture the rooms, the people, the press of the air against her. These things were incommunicable, minutia lost to moments lost between them. 

"There was one guy, Donnie, who could be a bit forceful apparently. He had eyes for Shelley. He's our best bet I reckon." Hailey continued, boring her eyes into the dust on her bedside table.

"Such a close relationship though...doesn't sound like you can rule the best friend out to me." Jean said, intent on the side of Hailey's face.

Hailey's blood ran colder at the insinuation. Swallowing, she retrained her eyes dead ahead.

"I just don't get that feeling from her. She really doesn't seem the type." she tried to say calmly.

"We've caught a lot of people that didn't seem the type." Jean continued. "And it's too early to disregard anyone just yet." 

"Well I'm telling you what I know, and I know Rhianna didn't do it." Hailey said, flustering a little bit, an edge in her breathy tone. She truly didn't feel like Rhianna was guilty, and any pressing from the gang would reveal just that, but the accusation irked her all the same.

Jean recoiled from her questioning. The usual back and forth that punctuated their searches faltered now; she felt stranded at the side of the road. She watched Hailey sigh, plunk down her teacup, and turn to face the wall with her book, and felt deflated. She felt like they were trapped constantly, cyclically traversing the chasm between them only to find the other had turned back. Would her feet ever tire?

\--

Afternoon turned to evening, the pages before her blurring in the dying light. She looked across the room; Hailey read oddly, on her back, the book perched precariously above her head, hardly ergonomic. But her brow furrowed in thought, and she payed no mind to being watched.

Jean excused herself to cook dinner, explaining that fish had been near impossible to find despite her best efforts and desires; they would have beef. Everything fell from her mouth airily, no respect for the quiet air between them.

Jean insisted on no books at the table: rude, apparently, so they ate in polite shtumness, slumped over plates, driving forks into hunks of meat. Eventually, Hailey made to wash her plate before making her way to her workbench, saying she should at least manage something useful with her day. Jean was already fidgeting, backing into the spindles of the chair she sat in to rise.

Hailey sat at her chair, almost dumbfounded, her body faltering. She felt like sitting in a strange car and you didn’t quite know where the gears sat; you’d reached for the stick and missed it completely. Her physical world rejumbled, and her mind with it, apparently.

“I just had a wee tidy.” Jean said, unprompted, though Hailey’s faltering moves posed question. “Just neatened the place up.” she added, signalling to the rest of the loft with her eyes. Indeed, each surface was clear bar bleached doily, perfectly centred, sofas nestled in afternoon light and life’s detritus cleared away. With it, any glint of metal was hidden; spanner amidst screw, washer alongside brace. As Hailey pawed through the cubbyholes of her desk, she discerned no logic besides Not On Show. Where even was the compact turnaround she’d been working on? Her fingers fidgeted in the annoyance until she finally rested her eyes on Jean.

“You didn’t wash it all with soap and water did you?” she asked gravely. Her head still ached, heavy with a wave of information as to the social rituals of young women. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken to a woman younger than herself; even at work she avoided the wives picking up cars, making a play of bowing out for her colleagues.

“I’m no idiot; I’m not about to scrub a bunch of metal with my scourer.” Jean said indignantly. “You don’t think it’s an improvement?” she said, turning to survey the loft pointedly.

“I didn’t - I just...” Hailey braced herself her desk and sighed. “I have a system.”

Jean looked Hailey up and down, her cheeks sallow, lips pursed. Something riled up in both of them, some venomous vitriol so easily unsettled in the pair in recent days. Like animals at loggerheads, a momentary calculation of the risk, of the fallout, caused them to pull back from the edge.

Just as their muscles eased, the phone rang, the harsh chimes filling the cavernous space in the loft. Hailey watched as Jean marched to the receiver, searching for a tension in her posture, or a softness in her face. But Jean was like a blank slate; her voice professional if gravelly as she spoke a few short phrases into the handset. In a moment, however, Hailey saw her grow still, a firm uncurling of vertebrae overcoming Jean's posture. Tall, resolute, and icy, she turned to Hailey to offer the phone, hand cupped over the receiver.

"A Miss Rhianna Guire for you." Jean said, her voice dripping in a politeness Hailey recognised from the bookshop when customers would linger after closing. 

Hailey stomach sunk, and without a word, she rose to take the handset, Jean's eyes fixed on hers as they handed over. Resting her arm on the wall-mounted box and turning her back to the room, and Jean, she hushed into the receiver, feeling Jean move away with brisk footfalls.

From the silent bedroom, Jean sat irritated, able to hear Hailey's gruff words.

"Hey, how're you...Mhhmm...really, with me?...No, sure yeah...sounds great...okay...okay yeah I'll see you then...Bye." a chime noted the end of the call as the receiver was replaced, and a moment expanded before Hailey made her way into the bedroom. Jean scrambled for her book.

Hailey sat on her bed with a huff, elbows on her knees, waiting in the silence. Jean bore her eyes into the unseen words of her book.

"That was Rhianna...from the funeral." Hailey finally said, her words soft, but still carving through the thick air between them. Jean slammed her book down on her lap, and tensed her jaw. "She wanted to go dress shopping with me later this week." at this, Jean turned to her, incredulous.

"Of all the things..." she began.

"And I think I should go. She's lonely and hurting..."

"She's a murder suspect." Jean spat, her voice high. "And she has our phone number." Hailey rolled her eyes.

"I'm telling you, she's not! Why won't you trust me on this?" she shot back, pleading.

"It's not a question of trusting you; it's her! Have you forgotten what we're doing?" Jean pressed, desperate for Hailey to see what she could not clearly herself; the fear and care that drummed inside for the redhead. “What even happened to you at the memorial?”

“Nothing! Nothing happened!” Hailey raised her voice. This was a rare occurrence - at most she’s holler at someone, or belt from her diaphragm to carry her words, make them land with a thud. But in her minds eye she saw Rhianna, crumpled face and crying, saw her hand on her own, the whisper of thank you. Hailey felt like she was lying, but unsure of the lie herself, the truth obfuscated in her own confusion. She spun around inside of herself. “Why do I gotta tell you everything anyway?” she added, butting out her chin in a pointed question.

Because I am in this, for your sake more than my own.

Because I care. Because I worry. Because I want to know every little whim in your head so I can know you.

I do not have a right to know you so completely.

“Well I suppose you don’t.” Jean said quietly, relenting the press of her body back onto her arrangement of pillows. Their eyes swam in each others features, finally fixed on the other, angry faces above tumultuous, caring minds, before finally breaking away. Jean sniffed. She made her way to her book, and Hailey, too hyped up to work, sat on the edge of her bed, leg jittering.

Is this not working? And Why isn’t this working? And Can we try again, from the start? she thought, watching the sharp rise of Jean’s chest as she breathed. The long drop of her neck in forced concentration.

That night, Hailey lay in a forced huff while Jean read across the room, her light the only source, though not the only thing preventing Hailey from sleep. She could have been pissy, asked - nay, told her - to turn it out so she could sleep; it crossed her mind, but she didn’t. She didn’t know why she was riled up, why she’d put up her guards and refused to explain everything. Though she didn't know what there was to explain, beneath it all. She’d wanted so desperately for her to be involved, and now she was voluntarily helping, and Hailey somehow...didn’t want it? The bathroom loomed large in her mind; it felt secret, sacred almost. But it didn’t explain the traffic jam on her thoughts.

She looked to Jean, who’s brow was tight over her book. It all made Hailey churn faster inside; a mix of rejection and denial, want and fear, anger and love. Diametrically apposed. The space between them, the space between Hailey’s feelings, felt cavernous, and she was lost in it. Her mind flickered to her hand, creeping beneath the heavy sheets to open the smallest of gaps to crawl into. Feel the gentle curve of body against body. The wordless forgiveness at the body's expression of purest truth.

Jean slapped her book shut and clicked out her bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. As the streetlight seeped in, and Hailey’s eyes adapted, she resounded: tonight, she was on her own.

—

Hailey woke from a blank sleep to the dark room. Mouth dry, body heavy, sleep clung around her mind so that sounds arrived in jumbled snippets, swimming from half dream to reality. Noting her nonsense thoughts, she stirred. Sheets shifted, and gruff catches of breath floated through the air. In pale moonlight scattered through curtains, Hailey could see Jean fretting across the room. The eggshell light caught in the cracks of her brow, crumpled in fear, fractures along the expression. Her head tossed on the pillow, disjointed from the twitches of her body, as moans began to escape her mouth; screams and yells muted by sleep.

Hailey watched across the room. Everything in her urged her forwards, the same reflex since Jean's first night at the loft. But her body felt heavy, disjointed from her mind, like cement or honey was dripping down the threads of her muscles, settling in stagnant pools. She remained, eyes locked on the frantic body of Jean, stuck halfway.

But like a body weighed down in water by stones in the pockets, some innate reflex kicked in. Against herself, against her will, against her best laid plan. Hailey rose in some dreamlike state, carried by her body and the deepest, truest feelings inside of it, across the room. Jean continued to toss in the bed below her, but she did not appear small, or pitiful, to Hailey. Instead, it pained her heart, and Hailey cracked open the sheets and slid in next to Jean without pause. She grasped at errant hands, pulling them around herself, and soothed at Jean's hair until she melted into her body with relief.

—

Hailey woke in a warm glow; diffuse yellow sunlight softening the pale sheets around her, her mind floating amongst the dust clouds. The bed beside her was cooling only ever so slightly. She languished in the first stretch of the morning, turning to the sun-drenched room and her own bed.

Jean stood over the makeshift vanity - a small paint splattered desk with a thrifted mirror rested atop - pinning her hair with bobby pins from one of the many trinket dishes on the crowded surface. This morning ritual was repetitive but efficient, and hypnotic to Hailey. She watched Jean's deft hands rise, pin, and fall ad infinitum. The mirror caught the reflection of a slice of her face, relaxed and uncontrived in the thoughtless routine. Hailey's heart swelled, the sunlight warming her chest and spreading through her whole body as she watched. Ever so faintly, she could feel the curve of Jean's face against her fingers. With little inspection, Jean deemed her hair finished, and traced her lips with a gentle sheen of lipstick. Hailey couldn't help but smile.

Sharply, utterly oblivious to Hailey's dutiful gaze, Jean turned on her heels. She stopped dead when she caught Hailey's intent eyes.

"'Morning." Hailey said softly, propping herself up on her elbow, smiling softly upwards.

"We have to be at Millie's in an hour." Jean responded, her tone short, and quickly made her way from Hailey's gaze and towards the living area. Hailey shifted to sit up, jarred.

She toyed with teasing you didn't want a lie in, but thought better of it. Still, she grasped for the warmth, the peace, she had felt in the dark.

"Put a pot of coffee on, won't you?" she called after Jean, as nonchallantly as she could.

"We'll pick some up on the way," Jean answered, not stopping as she left the room. "I want to go over the files again."

Hailey curled her legs to her chest, resting her head on her knees. Petulant, she though to herself, even as she continued to pout. A chill closed around her bare arms, the sun evidently moving behind cloud cover, dimming the room. She had awoken so hopeful, like she had broken through some barrier in herself at long last; found the path she was meant to take. No more distractions. But then Jean...she was evidently just as lost as ever. Hailey furrowed her brow as she felt her mind schism, and it turned to a scowl. The icy Jean of the waking hours could not possibly be the same Jean that clung, hot and desperately, to her in the night. The one who grasped at her unquestionably as they ran from the hooligans. And yet she loved them both, despite herself.

Tuning back into reality, she stared at the doorway. Best get up, she thought to herself, or risk being badgered if Jean should return. Rising up, she felt split in two by it all herself.

—

The pair entered Millie's apartment in silence after a similar tram ride. Everyone was already at the kitchen table, passing mugs and plates of biscuits atop the spread of papers. Hailey made straight for the pot of coffee on the stove, deigning not to erupt in her usual, jovial greetings for the team. Millie shot Jean a subtle look, but Jean simply offered a thin smile in response and moved to sit down.

"So ladies, did anything come from the memorial?" Millie finally asked, turning to each of them in turn. Hailey stood apart, leant on the kitchen counter, apparently lost in a file.

"A little too much." Iris sighed, making for her notebook. She leafed through a few pages, and motioned her exasperation with her hands. "Searching for a murderer in that place felt like searching for a needle in a sewing kit."

"Just..." Millie said, motioning across the table to her, "take it step by step." The team filtered manilla files of people between them, and blank legal pads, as Iris collected herself.

"Well...there's the obvious: scorned lover." she said, looking at her notes. "A one Donnie Phink." Olivia motioned a small black and white photograph and sparsely populated form to her, and Iris nodded in confirmation.

"He's just a child." Olivia posited quietly, looking the short file over.

"A nasty one." Iris added. "He was angry at Shelley, not about her. Bitter about her moving on to better things and leaving him in...suburban stasis."

"Yeah and Rhianna suggested he'd been dogging Shelley the whole night." Hailey added, gravel in her tone.

"Rhianna?" Olivia said, quizzically making to leaf through her files.

"Shelly's next door neighbour and best friend." Hailey said, before the file could be found. "She was pretty broken up by the whole thing, but I think I got some good stuff out of her." she added, grabbing a biscuit and munching on it with a small glance at Jean.

"There's another thing...Geralt Guire, Rhianna's father." Iris interjected. "He told me about a run of missing girls, close to the family, back in Boston - where they used to live up until the winter."

The room ran cold. Like a drop of ink in water, the shiver ran across their bodies and played at the hairs on the back of their necks.

"Well that's certainly suspect." Millie croaked. "Missing, not murdered?"

"He just said missing..." Iris responded, though her tone betrayed uncertainty.

"There's nothing in the file about them." Olivia murmured. 

"Why would there be? It doesn't even fit the M.O., and they happened across the country." Iris added. "Though it's odd...to raise it to us and not the police, I mean."

"Hmm, it's a common enough phenomena. Culprits present suspect information freely, maybe even offer to help in the investigation, though you're right; it usually involves law enforcement." Millie posited, knowledge oozing from her nonchalant tone. "We should look into it and raise it to Bryce if anything comes up."

"So you think the Guire's had something to do with it?" Olivia pressed.

"There's something else." Jean said, her tone quiet but cold, slicing across the table. Everyone turned to her in silence. "Hailey isn't telling you the whole story. She and Rhianna are friends; she's calling the loft. They have plans."

"She's right here." Hailey quipped.

"Is it true?" Iris pressed, breaking the hold between Hailey and Jean.

"Well yeah, but-" Hailey began.

"No buts." Iris interjected. "Hailey this is serious, even if she's innocent, which could be a big if -" she pressed at the sign of Hailey's argument with a raised finger, "you risk exposing what we're doing to the real culprit." Hailey's brow knotted, betraying her hurt at this unexpected outburst from Iris, of all people. 

"Look I know what I'm doing, okay? And if she's guilty, what's better than a man on the inside?" Hailey retorted.

"I thought you said she was definitely innocent?" Jean asked, jutting her chin out.

Hailey balked at the question, feigning a laugh, slow and low.

"She is, okay? You guys just have to trust my instincts..." She started, as assertively as she could muster.

"You're not in this alone Hailey." Iris insisted, again.

"I know that, but I don't need-" Hailey began.

"You could be putting us all in danger." Iris finally added.

The words hit Hailey square in the chest.

"Oh. So that's what you think." She whispered across the silent room. In an instant, it was like clouds covered her face, and wordlessly stormed out of the flat, grabbing a biscuit on the way.

The air thinned into the space Hailey left behind her. Even this muted, transformed version of Hailey demanded room with her mere presence. Olivia and Millie trailed their eyes after Hailey's wake, while Jean and Iris stared into the air above the table. The shock at this behaviour had grown blunted, but the tension still prickled around the group. Eventually, Millie spoke.

"Of all people, I thought you'd have the most trust in her." she quizzed Iris.

"There's...more." Iris broke, fingers tracing over her notes. "Donnie mentioned that the last he - maybe anyone saw of Shelley - was her wandering off with Rhianna late at night, after the party."

"Well we could take that at face value, but he could be covering his tracks. He hasn't given a statement either way yet." Olivia said. "It was a big party."

"True but..." Iris trailed off.

"What is it?" Olivia pressed, worried.

"Donnie also said there might have been something...between Rhianna and Shelley." Iris looked coyly around the circle. Millie quickly shared a glance with Jean.

"Possible motive for him." Olivia said.

"Or her." Millie added, pointedly.

"Well maybe if Hailey is getting close to Rhianna she could determine her...proclivities." Iris said, coyly. The room fell quiet in the realisation that Hailey would have to briefed on this idea, and the likelihood that she would not be receptive. Slowly, all eyes turned to Jean, who simply balked.

"I'll talk to her." Millie finally said, slapping her hands down on the table to break the silence, smirking to show some cheek in the matter. "About all of it." she stole a look at Jean as the rest of the table relaxed.

Jean sighed loudly, and finally grabbed at the files in front of her, amidst stares from the rest of the group.

"We still don't know how the bodies ended up in the water." she said, as if nothing had happened, as if the air wasn't spinning and calamitous around her face. "That's the feasibility point, if we get that, this whole thing gets clearer."

"Well Donnie was angry, but pretty weedy. I'm sure Dennis could handle him. And Geralt...he's a big guy but I don't think his heart could manage getting a body down to the docks." Iris pondered, and stopped, some cog evidently ticking in her mind. "Rhianna's small but she'd have the means, and the know how."

"What do you mean?" Millie asked.

"Antipsychotics." Iris gave in way of response. "In the bathroom. They could sedate someone pretty well. All the way, actually. We covered them in class recently; Rhianna would know how to use them, what to tell the doctor to get them, even how to prepare them for injection."

"And she could lure Shelley down to the water without a struggle." Olivia added.

"And she has my phone number." Jean concluded.

—

Everyone was unsettled. It was like the truth dangled just in front of them, and leered over their shoulders, all at once, though Jean felt different. Unmoored, rather than concerned, herself, and grasping for Hailey felt like grasping at air; like she'd wandered off course somehow. Amidst the blur of thoughts in her head, she'd found Millie's hand in front of her, and the insistence they go to the library to find newspaper reports on the missing Boston girls.

The library was dark, with lacquered oak panels and bookcases on every wall, and the harsh daylight shattering through windows crowded with stacks, offering a dim glow to the wide room. One of the older buildings in San Fransisco, Jean felt almost at home here, though people here moved more freely than England, like years of tension hadn't crept into their spine.

The articles swam in black and white blurs in front of the pair, Jean covering the Daily Globe and Millie on the Post. They'd gone back as far as a year, and were trudging through well enough, but their backs were aching, eyes dry, and the crowd had thinned out as the evening drew in.

"I think I've got something." Millie finally said, hushed. "About four months before the Guire's moved, July 20th. Missing girl, eighteen, last spotted...at a debutante party on the outskirts of Cambridge."

"Has to be it." Jean said, making to look at the microfiche screen, scribbling a note with the date.

"See if you can find a picture." Millie said flatly, before moving on from the diminutive box of black and white text. Jean was speeding through the days when Millie exclaimed again. "A longer article this time, earlier in the paper. Seems they noticed a pattern; young rich girl missing from a party just a month and a half later." She scribbled the date and handed it across to Jean without breaking her focus.

"Any other information?" Jean asked out of reflex.

"No, just tabloid supposition." Millie sighed. "A rather ugly statement posits that she may have been...indisposed and made a run for it." she said, dripping with sarcasm.

"Not impossible, but highly unlikely given the circumstance." Jean scoffed. She groaned and dropped her head to her hands.

"You alright?" Millie said, her tone soft as she lifted out from her focus.

"Yes it's just been a while since I've used one of these things. It's getting to me is all." Jean replied with a sigh.

Millie tuned from her microfiche, languishing forward in her stool to rest on her elbows and stare into the side of Jean's face. Millie had been one of the first girls recruited to Bletchley, when Shed 4 was a sparsely populated dump, and Jean had worked behind a clear pane of glass - confidentiality be damned. Before the long slog had set in, when she'd hoped the war could be a short blip in her life, Millie had taken to watching Jean through this glass as she worked. She pulled the same face still, grounding and gone all at once.

"Is that all that's bothering you?" she pressed, as gently as she could. Jean faltered, and turned to face her, incredulous.

"What are you talking about?" Jean responded, trying to return to the screen.

"Don't play coy with me. I know you too well and you know it." Millie poked back, weakly kicking her foot in Jean's direction.

"Well, intimacy breeds bluntness, dear." Jean shot back, her lilt gravelly and sarcastic. Millie sighed with acceptance, playing with her eyebrow as she calculated her next words.

"I was just wondering if this is all...getting to you. Too much, I mean. I know it gets to us all, it's part of why we do it." she began to babble, and stilled herself. "I just mean, it's okay if you need to...step back from it all; It's scary. Edward is doing much better, you could move back in, if you'd feel safer." Millie finished, looking to Jean, who stared with a still face into the middle distance through her screen. 

Finally, she spoke.

"I'm not afraid." Jean said, voice soft. Millie felt questions rise in her throat, but knew better than to interrupt Jean on the rare occasion that she opened up. "I'm worried." Jean concluded, her words landing with a cushioned thud amongst the dust. With a shaky intake of breath, she sent the microfiche whirling forwards.

"About Hailey?" Millie asked, redundantly though she knew. Jean only gave an answer in a short glance.

Oh you stubborn woman. Millie thought. You ridiculous, stubborn woman. Propriety still built a wall between them, a wall the truth couldn't traverse, especially in public. Millie knew so much of Jean's heart, the spiky shell and desperate interior.

"Good god." Jean gasped, snapping Millie out of her thoughts. Jean looked to Millie, aghast at what she had found, and Millie shot up to look at her screen.

"Oh my..." she whispered, leaning in. Sure enough, on the 20th of July of the previous year, was a short article, white text against black background, roscharch blots turned into gross meaning across the page. And next to the article, a picture. Though obscured in the negative, a pearly smile and bright hair of a beautiful young woman were obvious. "Blonde and gorgeous, just like Shelley." Millie steeled herself, "Find the next one." she stated, returning to her own machine.

Several moments passed before Jean said:

"Just the same." A similar headshot shone out, some high school leavers portrait, and the shocks of pale hair and bright eyes.

With a newfound resolve, the pair sent the issues flying past. Minutes dragged on, before Millie exclaimed:

"Got it. Just two weeks before the Guire's came to the city. Cambridge suburbs, some fancy party, gorgeous young woman never came home." with some dutiful edge of pride edging into her voice. "And there's a picture."

"They could be a girl group." Jean said with disdain, at another blonde face smiling out at her.

"Not one I'd be keen to see." Millie quipped. She sighed. "But we have a very distinct pattern." She sighed. "You grab our coats and call us a cab. I'll pull these out of the archive." She placed her hand on Jean's shoulder as she had made to leave. "We'll pass these on to Bryce. We can't do this one alone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emma Roberts in American Horror Story Voice: Surprise bitch, bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.
> 
> Exciting but busy times! Engagement! Cat! Covid!

**Author's Note:**

> Set soon after TBC:SF S1E8
> 
> Canon aligned. Basically positing: what if Jean became Hailey's roommate, because that storyline was never finalised. Jean definitely loves Hailey but in a lesbian-british double hit combo of awkwardness, fails to act on anything, and Hailey just assumes they will continue to be friends and nothing more.
> 
> 07/03 - Next chapter within the next few days. Expected to be between 6 to 10 chapters/25-40K words depending on how superfluously I continue to write.


End file.
